***
The blistering illumination of Red Dead burned the sky. The thick, cream-colored curtains were pulled tight, though it wasn’t enough to keep the glow out of his bedroom. Red Dead had entered the solar system one year ago, the exact day the accursed Civil War began. The mountains promised his three sons, two daughters, and handful of grandchildren priceless safety. Leaving the congested city was the smartest thing he ever did, or so he thought.
The Neutral Zone Federation promised a safe haven for families wanting to escape the Civil War, but Denver was constantly patrolled by the Federation Military. The Mile High City felt more like a refugee camp under martial law. In the mountains, Abraham and his family relished their freedom. Both the North and the South signed the Treaty of Life and respected the neutral ground of Colorado, Utah, and Kansas. Surprising enough, only a few Americans sought sanctuary in the safe zone. Everyone else was sucked into the bloodlust of combat.
The Civil War enlisted every nation on the planet. The political lies came hard and fast. Each side had its own warped version of freedom and liberty. Abraham always used to tell his children that freedom in this country was an illusion. Nobody is laughing anymore. Stuffing the feathered pillow over his eyes, he wondered if all of the hard fighting had something to do with that alien planet. He knew the elect would never spill the truth as he scrunched his wrinkled face.
War never changed; it was the same stench of rotting bodies and endless terrors. Abraham served in the U.S. Army before the Civil War when he was but a boy. However, now he believed the old “red, white, and blue” was a distant memory. The latest weapons threatened to pulverize every damn continent like a festering wound stuffed with radiation. The carnage coming was like nothing the world had ever faced. And all for what?
Wide awake, the internal chaos brought his sore eyes to his tiny wife sleeping beside him. Listening to his wife’s tiny snores, his cheeks dimpled. Beth was the sweetest soul. Dust danced upon the shards of crimson light that highlighted her gentle features.
“You awake, Beth?” he asked brushing an auburn curl out of her face. The only answer was a huff of air as she stirred in peaceful harmony. “I don’t know what I would do without you,” he mouthed. Beth had lost two brothers to the senseless violence. Both of them wore the navy blue jackets of the Northern Republic. Sweet Beth begged them not to go. She knew both sides were wrong. You could never justify kindergarteners in coffins. Nevertheless, her brothers were stuffed with testosterone and whiskey when they enlisted. The vicious conflict left countless fractured families and broken homes.
I can’t believe that was a year ago, he thought, rolling to his side and kicking his stiff legs. Africa, Australia, Europe, Japan, Canada, and Israel made up the superpowers sided with the North. The South aligned itself with China, Russia, South America, and most of the Middle East. As bad as it was in America, most of the counties overseas were far worse. Hate had reached its boiling point. All that was left was the nuclear option. It hadn’t happened yet, but most people believed it was only a matter of time.
He shifted to his aching back and stared up at the white ceiling. His focus rocked back and forth like he was watching an endless tennis match. He prayed for the infinite torment of his running mind to end. Nonetheless, the end ever came. Abraham didn’t know what to do or if anything would help him sleep. He hated the red shimmers of light. It affected him, made him angry and restless. Maybe it was causing all of the worldwide bloodshed?
A slight ringing tapped in his left ear. As if he could hear the phone before it erupted in tone, his age spotted hands scrambled for the receiver. He didn’t want to wake his tranquil wife. In few days the first bombs would fall and the phone lines would be forever gone. The whole world would fester.
“Hello?” he whispered, cupping his mouth with his free hand. He slid on a frameless pair of glasses and waited.
“Dad,” said Peter loud enough to reverberate.
“Peter, is that you?” Abraham climbed out of his tangle of blankets.
“Sorry to wake you,” his oldest son replied, breathing heavily through his nose.
“You didn’t wake me.”
Peter sighed “Still not sleeping?”
“A little here and there,” Abraham whispered, sliding his feet into a pair of slippers at the edge of the bed. He slipped out into the shadowy hall, wondering why Peter was calling this early in the morning. Peter was his oldest son and a humble man. He was considered Abraham’s good kid. Peter had taken up residence a few miles down the dirt road. All of Abraham’s family lived nearby, and that was a blessing.
“Have you talked to Robb?”
Abraham shook his wary head. He hadn’t talked to his son in three weeks. Robb was the middle boy, and a bit different in a peculiar way. Robb loved science and math. He could read and understand things that made Abraham’s head drum. That wasn’t to say the rest of his children were dumb. All of them were successful in their own ways. Yet, Robb was rocket science, fly-you-to-the-moon smart. He never played with toys; he never played sports. All he ever wanted to do was read and build things.
After a slight pause Abraham sighed. “You know, I haven’t spoken to him since he started that conversation about the joining the Southern Liberty. Abraham hated war. Robb wanted to go work for a private contractor somewhere in Texas. It was a nasty fight and no walls were thick enough to keep them safe. Abraham wasn’t going to lose a child to the mindless ploys of the rich. Abraham somehow knew he was recalling this memory and that made the pain of losing Robb worse.
“I just got off the phone with an ecstatic Robb.” Peter said it almost as if he was proud. “He said he’s going tonight.”
Abraham dragged his clammy hands across his exhausted face. “What?” He wondered aloud.
“Robb told me to gather the family and head to your house. He was going to give us some big speech. He said the end of the world was near.”
“He’s coming here?” Abraham gasped. “Why would he tell you such things?”
“Robb said time was short.”
Abraham still didn’t believe his son was threatening to join the South. “What the hell’s wrong with your brother?” He rushed for the second floor window and parted the ivory blinds with his meaty figures. His heart almost stopped when he saw a slick car’s high beams coming down the dirt road.
“Someone’s coming,” Abraham said full of passion.
“Robb,” breathed Peter. “What should I do? Should we come?”
“Maybe your brother was out drinking. This doesn’t make sense.” Abraham hurried down the old creaking stairs and lifted the curtain at the front window, a big bay window of length. He squinted as the high beams blinded him for a moment. “He’s driving like a manic. And how did he afford the gas?”
The silver vehicle swept across the long driveway and slid to a screeching halt. Abraham stepped back, holding his pained heart. Too much pressure, he thought, falling back into his comfortable plaid recliner. Robb would have to wait. Abraham reached over and popped the top of his heart medication. Two blue pills tumbled from the vial into his rough palms and then shot into his dry mouth. He swallowed hard as the agony increased. The medication had kept him heart attack free so far.
“Dad?” called out Peter. “Dad, are you alright? Who was in the vehicle?”
Abraham tensed as he let the phone fall out of his hand. He hadn’t seen Robb in three weeks. He sat slack jawed, his brown eyes bulging as Robb burst through his front door like he had over the years.
“What is going on?” Abraham met the gorgeous eyes of two of his grandchildren shuffling in behind their zealous dad. Their shrieks grew with his drumming heartbeat. Robb puffed and panted as he ignored Abraham and kept moving.
“Dad, please don’t go!” wailed Emme, tugging at Robb’s pin-striped blazer. The little black pack on her shoulders must have weighed close to thirty pounds. She was a sweet girl of ten back then, with a spirit bright enough to rival the daylight. Abraham enjoyed
Emme the most of his seven grandchildren. The reality of the situation forced him to pick up a stale glass of water and take a sip. The medicine was working, but its effects were too slow for his liking. His heart hammered in his overused chest as he sunk farther into the folds of the chair.
“I’m going with you, Dad,” exclaimed Hunter, picking up his bags. The teenage boy had sideswiped bangs and a lean frame. His personality matched the bad boy presence attributed to teenage angst. However, Abraham’s son, Robb, in his late-thirties, looked pale and sick.
He watched Robb yank at Hunter’s denim sleeve and speak with authority. “I will be back. You’ll be safe here with Grandma and Grandpa.”
“What the hell is going on?” demanded Abraham, trying to stand up, yet the tightness in his chest kept him seated. “You’re going to get yourself killed.” All of his swelling anger came back with vengeance in his hard glare. “I forbid you from joining the South.”
Robb’s grin mocked him. “I called Peter, Benjamin, Lilly, and Alison. I told them to make haste for the farm. We need to talk.” The red glisten from the terrestrial object bled into the room, highlighting Robb’s dark hair laced with a hint of his mother’s curls.
“Do you know what time it is?” questioned Abraham, adjusting his glasses. The clock on the wall confirmed the late hour, but Robb didn’t seem to care. “Where is your wife, Robb?”
“Tori went to warn her dad.”
“Warn Glenn about what? That you’ve gone off your rocker?” Glenn was Abraham’s closest neighbor and Emme and Hunter’s other grandpa. The crazy man was far from someone Abraham would call a friend. They had plenty of disputes between them over the last year.
At that strident moment, Beth rushed down the stairs, threading her frail arms around her trembling grandchildren. “What is the meaning of this?” she said.
Abraham pounded his fists. “That fool of a boy is going to fight for the South.”
Her thin lips quivered as she hugged little Emme in a somber embrace. “Robb, is it true?”
“Tori and I must go if the world is to survive what is coming. The apocalypse is on its way.”
“Why do you always talk in riddles?” snapped Abraham, wanting to slap the stupid out of his son.
“Are you listening to me? Get off your high horse and use your brain.”
Abraham was more than frustrated with his dim-witted son. Robb always thought he knew best, but he didn’t understand respect.
“Hush now. That’s your father,” Beth spat. “Show some respect.”
Abraham exchanged dark glances with his son.
After several deep breaths, Robb turned back to his mother. Beth was always willing to listen to reason. “I’m leaving my children with you. I’ll return as soon as possible.”
With a dejected look, Beth wiped the wet corners of her coffee-colored eyes. A grandmother always loved her grandchildren in a way she never could her own children. Abraham knew this to be true. Both Hunter and Emme melted into her warm embrace. However, the little girl continued to wail. It was like a banshee’s cry to Abraham as he cringed.
Abraham fought his way up despite the throbbing numbness climbing up his left side. His shaggy white eyebrows on his old face cut together.
“You’ll need guns.” Robb shifted back toward the door. “And shelter after the bombs settle.”
“Guns are illegal here,” snapped Abraham as Emme fell silent upon Beth’s hammering chest.
“Is everything okay?” questioned Tori as she burst into the house.
Everyone muttered a different word for no. Nobody was fine; in fact, it was the complete opposite.
Abraham saw the terror in Tori’s body language. Her straight, yellow hair fell down her slender back. “Robb, we have to go,” she said to her husband.
“The rest of my brothers and sisters haven’t arrived,” Robb replied.
“My daddy is coming,” Tori muttered with hollow eyes. She ran to her frightened children and took them in her loving arms. “It’s going to be okay,” she assured them.
Robb sighed. “I thought you said he wasn’t a problem?”
The scattering of loose gravel alerted them of someone else’s arrival. Was it the rest of the Abraham’s children or Tori’s crazy old father?
“The world is about to change. The North and the South are getting ready to launch a barrage of nuclear devices,” Robb said.
Abraham watched Robb clear the blemished coffee table between them. A pile of books and a glass tub of shiny hard candy crashed onto the carpeted floor. The sharp sound echoed across the space as tension between father and son intensified.
Robb swung up a hardened suitcase with a bang and clinked open the two plastic snaps. Inside was a variety of guns including assault rifles, hunting rifles, shotguns, and even pistols. Robb pointed back to another suitcase near the door and spoke soft and easy. “It’s stuffed with extra ammo. Hide it in the barn or one of the hunting cabins. Bury some of it out in the woods. I’m sure you remember how to use it, Dad.”
“A nuclear war?” Abraham gazed at Robb’s arsenal and then back to his somber son. He loved Robb, but the conflict had made his boy crazy. I think you need to leave, he thought, but couldn’t say the words. All he wanted was for his son to stay. Abraham couldn’t process the information fast enough. His eyes sunk a little deeper in his sullen expression. The red shade of the planetary object brought a fevered mien to his stoned appearance. He returned his eyes to his humming wife. “Did you hear him?”
“I heard him,” Beth hummed, rocking Emme.
“I don’t want to die,” Emme whimpered louder. Emme must have felt protected, sandwiched between her grandma and her mother. There was no safer place on the planet.
“Take care of your sister,” Robb said to Hunter. “We’ll be back.”
“What good are guns in a nuclear war?” asked Abraham, interlacing his fingers behind his head.
“Don’t go, Mom,” moaned Hunter, climbing into her familiar arms.
“I don’t have a choice.” Tori sobbed, running a hand through his messy hair. Abraham could see she didn’t want to leave her babies.
“There will be no home if we fail,” added Robb. He touched his boy gently across the shoulder and then turned for the door with Abraham hot on his heels.
Standing next to a rusted pickup truck was Tori’s father, Glenn. “Come out here, boy. I want to have words with you,” the crude rancher said, smacking his thin lips. Abraham watched Tori rush out the door. She pleaded with her drunken father. The whiskey breath must have burned her damp eyes by the jerk reaction she presented.
Robb followed his wife out and down the porch steps. Glenn had family serving in the Northern Republic. Everyone knew he hated all ties to Southern Liberty. The slender farmer scowled as his brow rose. He opened his pinkish eyes and stared. “I’ll tell you something, Robb. You try and run off and join the South, I’ll kill you.”
Robb smiled like a playful boy. “You don’t understand. They need brilliant minds to fight what’s coming.”
“Fuck you, and your alien talk.”
“It’s the spores that are going to change the world. It will make you wish for death, but it will never come.”
Abraham didn’t like the tone of the conversation. He moved back for a moment to the arsenal of weapons. He hadn’t fired a gun since his days in the service. The Neutral Zone Federation had a weapon ban it enforced with an iron fist in the city, but in the sticks, their presence was limited.
At first, Abraham thought about heading to Mexico. He believed the weapons ban was ploy for something sinister. He didn’t like the idea of living amongst a government of unarmed civilians. But he felt this place was the only way to keep his family out of the Civil War. Screw the rules, he thought as his fingers scratched the glossy gun metal of a pistol. He pressed the magazine release and frowned at the stack of .45 rounds, ready to do some damage.
The shouting outside intensified. Tori called for Abraham to join them
outside. The fear in her tone gave him the balls to stuff the gun into the back of his gray pajama pants. Muttering sinful curses under his breath, he strode out into the crimson night.
“Hold on, Glenn,” he mumbled, taking in his wily neighbor’s unpredictable eyes. It was grandpa verse grandpa.
“I never liked your son. He’s weak like you, Abraham,” Glenn spat with a stream of chewing tobacco dripping out of his mouth.
“I’ve pissed harder than you’ve ever fought.” Abraham took another step closer, watching a new set of headlights dip through the thicket of trees. “That’s going to be Benjamin Heinz,” he suggested, watching Glenn turn back to the rumbling sound of the vehicle. “How many times did my son kick your son’s ass? Close to a dozen if I remember right. Funny, your boy was two years older and a good foot taller. What do you think he’s going to do to you?”
Glenn laughed, then busted Robb in the mouth. Robb never saw the sucker punch coming. Glenn moaned, then tucked his fist back, wincing in discomfort. “Piss on you, Abraham. Don’t worry. I got me a Northern soldier on the way. He’s going to take care of this Southern traitor,” Glenn promised.
Abraham sucked in a lungful of thin air. His daughter Alison was engaged to a Northern soldier named Steven who happened to be on leave in the area. Most of the soldiers on both sides took their vacations in the neutral zone. It was the only safe place for a combatant. Steven had a certain savvy about him that disgusted an old man such as himself. Maybe it was because the soldier reminded Abraham of his own persona during his youthful time in the military.
Abraham never liked Glenn. The troublesome neighbor had given his family a barrage of issues because of Robb and Tori’s relationship. Nevertheless, it was the poisoning of his dog that burned in his soul.
Abraham watched Benjamin jump out of his vehicle. One of the straps on Benjamin’s brown overalls was busted and swung with each heavy step. Ben was the largest in the Heinz family with refined muscles that never took a day of rest. He continued in a straight line for Glenn, only taking his eyes off of him once, glancing down to check his injured brother.
“Nobody hits Robb except me,” he said.
Glenn spit at the ground and showed his toothless grin. “Ben, you don’t know what he did.”
Ben’s oil stained hands were balls as he crushed Glenn in the stomach. Glenn fell, clutching tight to his swollen belly. “Tell me he deserved it, Robb,” Ben snapped at his brother. “Tell me!”
“Every ounce of it,” Robb answered.
Abraham gawked at the edge of the driveway. He saw another car he didn’t hear drive up. This was one of those fancy electric vehicles. A tall man slipped out the back of the car on polished dress shoes. The navy blue trousers held up by suspenders told Abraham he was in serious trouble. He knew the Northern scumbag was here for Robb. Abraham felt the tension inch down his spine. The man was indeed Steven Waller, his youngest daughters, fiancé. Steven had two fellow Yankees following his every step. “This isn’t a war zone,” Abraham called out, though everyone appeared to ignore his words.
“Is it true?” Steven asked, coming to a stop several feet back.
Abraham’s stomach wrenched. “This is neutral ground. You got no right.”
“A little birdy tells me Robb claims to have information about a nuclear war? And news about some sort of nasty virus?”
“Go to hell.” Robb spat out a wealth of blood as he climbed up to his feet. “Your people did this,” he accused, drenched in sweat and salt. “The Northern Republic is responsible for the coming apocalypse.”
“Both sides use bombs, but nuclear bombs are against the rules. You will be coming with us. I promise you, Abraham, no harm will come to him.” Steven pointed and his two Yankee goons descended on Robb.
Benjamin cut off the two soldiers in a hurry, his breath hot in their shaved faces. “Nobody’s touching my brother.” The two soldiers looked back to Steven for orders.
“For America,” Glenn slurred as he took another cheap shot at Robb, splitting his left eye. Robb staggered and then fell into the dirt.
Abraham fingered the stubble on his strong jaw as he stepped forward. He saw his son on his knees, bleeding through his teeth and tracing a finger over his gashed eye. Part of him loved the sight; Robb needed to get his butt kicked. He’d always been weak. Yet as a father, Abraham wasn’t going to let some man his age take a swing without consequences.
Increasing his speed, Abraham saw his chance and took it with fury. A straight jab brought Glenn to his knees. “Nobody is touching my family!” Enraged, Abraham turned his scowl toward Steven and his cronies. “Get off my property right now. Screw the North and the South!” Abraham felt the vein in his temple throbbing. “You think the blood spilled by the Northern Republic doesn’t stain your hands, Steven?”
Glenn rose and threaded his hand in his daughter’s yellow hair. He yanked her back hard. “You have turned my own daughter into a criminal.” He pushed her into the dirt and charged Robb again.
Weak, hairy arms grabbed around Glenn’s collar and tugged. It was Robb, and the sight made Abraham proud. His son had never fought back. During Robb’s teen years, the boy would come home with black eyes and tales of how he only cowered. Whatever cause Robb was sworn to, it made him fight. This was something new. Robb forced himself on top of old Glenn and more slapped than punched.
“Nobody touches my wife,” he howled.
It was in that moment that Abraham realized the crimson night had turned the weakest of souls into fierce predators. Everything that happened after blurred as the onset to his first heart attack ensued. Steven and his men thought it would be a good time to take advantage of a stunned crowd. One of them, a plump man with a splash of freckles, swung at Abraham. The heart medication made Abraham numb to an otherwise stinging blow. He took a second punch to the gut and spit. Then he gave a series of his own.
He could hear Beth screaming at the door’s edge. Then and there, as sudden as it began, the screaming stopped. Abraham imagined the end of the conflict. The tussle would see Steven and his men away and Glenn back to his home. Imaging the typical ending, he failed to see Crazy old Glenn reaching for something in his pocket.
“I always hated you,” Glenn slurred through his whiskey breath. “Either the soldiers take him or I kill him.” As he pulled out his hand, a knife flashed in the crimson light.
“Put it down,” Abraham snapped, holding up a cautious hand. It had happened too fast. “Glenn, you’re not thinking right.” Breathing hard and waiting for the pain in his knuckles to subside enough for him to gage the situation, Abraham trembled with raw adrenaline. The silence stretched across the shadows of the farm in an uncanny manner.
After three or four seconds, Glenn stood above Robb and held his three inches of honed steel at the ready.
“I need him alive,” slurred Steve, holding a hunk of flesh dripping from his fat lips. He tried to sit up, but the beat down suffered at the hands of Benjamin left him stunned and tangled.
“This isn’t you, Glenn.” Abraham slid his hand back and grasped the familiar grip of the pistol. “Nobody has to get hurt. We can still all walk away from this and fix it another day.”
“I do this for the good of the country,” Glenn said, his voice shaky as he took a moment to appreciate the daunting blood-colored night. Closing his big eyes, Glenn ran his hand down in a swift downward motion. Red Dead must have spoken to Glenn in a rage of consuming fire as if a dark god were forcing his hand. The pleas fell silent on his deaf ears. Red Dead had ushered in commands that could never be disobeyed.
“Die!” Glenn shrieked.
Adrenaline rushing, Abraham swung the pistol and steadied his aim. Yet, before he could pull the trigger, a loud bang rang in his old ears tearing the color from his world.
He could smell the gunpowder, and when he turned and saw his grandson Hunter with a rifle, the color came back in a flash. The teenage boy was trembling as the sound echoed throughout the mass of the trees.
Everyone cried out his name, but Hunter stood still as if nothing else in the world existed. At the first release of his salty tears, he pointed the gun at Steven. “Leave my father alone!” The wild in Hunter’s eyes told the soldiers he wasn’t playing—that and the gaping hole in Glenn’s chest.
Abraham scrutinized Steven and his men as they retreated to their vehicle. In the still moment, he saw many memories of war. Was this a victory? Or the beginning of something far worse? Steven drove away and Abraham couldn’t help but wonder if the fool would return with the authorities. Guns were illegal. The spinning wheels pounded over ruts and potholes, the vehicle almost scraped its springs. Steven is gone.
A few moments later, his oldest son, Peter, rolled up in his station wagon with Abraham’s daughters, Lilly and Alison. This would be the last time the entire Heinz family stood together on the farm. Abraham gazed at each of his five children and staggered back to the steps of the porch. His heart fluttered. The wild fire in his chest was spreading. And then all he saw was darkness.
Nobody standing there on that dreadful night understood the far-reaching truth of Robb’s words. Yet, it was there for all of them to see two years ago. Had Abraham listened back then, things might have been different. He didn’t know how, but he needed to believe.
VI
Abraham’s eyes flickered back to reality, pulling hard from the recollection. Remembering had put him in a dark corner with little optimism. He grunted a cry as he felt the sharp edge of a dagger pull out of his sore chest cavity. The memory seared him as he swept upright and steadied his feet on the carpet. Clutching his throat, he fought for air as the panic of the past curled back and left him to his disturbed thoughts. In his twisting and turning, he had thrown the decorative pillows from the couch.
“Beth,” he said, feeling her heartbeat within his own. After the breathless moment ended, he glared around the room. Across from him Hunter sat, his rifle in his hand, the safety off. The boy’s eyes were bottomless holes of confusion. Abraham grunted as he reached for his frameless glasses on the coffee table.
“You okay?” Hunter questioned, looking back over his shoulder. Near the big bay window was Sam, crossbow slung over her narrow back as she stole a peek outside into the blood-colored night. The crossbow was Abraham’s son’s. Peter had kept it up stairs in the spare bedroom for over a year.
“Did you find them?” Abraham asked, fighting a bad case of the shakes. The nightmare relived took a toll on him. Hard to believe it’s been two years.
“I found tracks, bus tracks. I think some sort of military or government agency must have come to the farm. The word ‘infected’ is spray painted on the barn door and its sides. I think they evacuated our family.”
“Did you go in?” Abraham was up and ready to fight.
Hunter looked down and then up. “No. There really are some infected trapped in the barn. I can’t get inside without freeing them. They are everywhere now. I was out scouting and saw a horde of them heading this direction.”
“The bus tracks,” Abraham said, “can they be followed?” A bitter chill had crept up his waterlogged back. He looked at his black-banded watch and realized he’d been out for a half hour. The daylight would soon break the horizon and chase away the monsters.
“I followed the tread back to Highway 9. They were heading toward the dinosaur gas station. If the people are stopping to pick up survivors, we might be able to catch them. Maybe Denver is safe and sound.”
“Someone’s coming,” whispered Sam, too loud for the moment. She ducked inside the curtains as the harsh buzzing sound left the three of them plaster-white and begging for a break.
“You mean something,” Abraham corrected. With a quick, one-eyed glance around the corner, he caught sight of more shadows near the back door. “They have us surrounded.” He knew they weren’t going to escape though the first floor. “Get upstairs, to the roof.”
Abraham worked his way up to the second floor and then rattled the stubborn window open. Both teenagers slipped out onto the roof and inched toward the side of the house. Abraham knew after Robb left, Hunter would sneak out to the roof and stare at the enormous red planet. That explained how the boy knew the terrain so well.
“Should we wait?” Sam questioned.
“No, if they surround the house we will be trapped.” Curse you, Red Dead, Abraham thought, scrambling down the rough bark of the devolved tree. Before he knew it, he was squirming around the backside of the barn, and by God’s good grace, avoided the infected monsters clawing at the front windows and door.
“Barony Tompkins,” Abraham whispered. It was a neighbor twenty miles west of his farm. They had shared drinks on a fishing trip after Robb left. Barony’s son had joined the South too, and both Abraham and Barony were heartbroken to lose their children.
“It’s not him, at least not anymore,” Hunter reminded his grandfather.
This was true. The fungus had woven itself amongst his human tissue creating a cluster of peeled flesh and oozing sores. It was hard to think this man was once human. The thing screamed one of its best buzzing sounds and then the rest of its friends trapped in the barn joined in like a group of baying wolves. Was that how they communicated? Could they communicate? Abraham didn’t know, but he was pretty sure they were locking in on his scent.
The sound of shattering glass was sure to be the front windows back at the farm house. His old friend didn’t wait; Barony hurried toward the sound at a frightening pace. When he did, Abraham cut across the empty space, praying the rest of the way was clear.
He weaved behind a cylindrical garbage can, then a tree, and from there, it was a straight shot toward his closest hunting cabin. The rattling of chains gave him pause, and when his eyes adjusted, he saw Greta Tompkins trying to get into the crude cabin. Inside, he had hid the keys to the old Blazer and a wealth of supplies, guns, and ammo. Nonetheless, the woman who used to bake him apple pies was guarding its only entrance. Only she was infected.
“We have to get in there,” he called back to Hunter.
“You want me to draw it away?”
“Hell no, there are too many of the infected stirring about. We need to be silent.” Abraham turned his stoned glare toward Samantha. Her ebony skin blended in the shadows and gave her a healthy advantage when it came to natural camouflage. “Samantha, what is your last name?”
“Why?”
Abraham only growled.
“Downs, Samantha Downs.”
“Samantha Downs, can you shoot that thing in the head?”
Sam’s finger edged at the base of the crossbow and whipped it in front of her chest. “My brother taught me to hunt small game back in Durango. It was how we ate before he got good at cards. I had this exact model.”
“Can you kill it?” Abraham asked, realizing how monstrous he sounded. Hunter was already forced to grow up too fast, and now he was asking the girl to do the same. He would need them both if they were to survive. He would worry about giving Peter back his crossbow later.
Sam didn’t smile. She had the look of a person who had never killed.
“It’s not a person,” Abraham said.
“I can do it,” she replied
Abraham knew what it meant to fight the smothering demons of fear.
On feet as soft as a cat, she scurried toward a fern, then took aim at the head. Everyone could see ring worm scratching through the putrid eye holes of the freak, and the sight caused her to look away for a moment. She whispered something and it must have inspired her.
“Go help her,” Abraham whispered back to his grandson.
Hunter paused and before he could move, Sam had positioned herself for the shot. The bolt was snug in the flight groove, and the stock wedged tightly against her shoulder. One hand gripped the trigger and the other the clasp. The string was trapped and the iron sights lined up seamless with her eyes.
The corpse rattled the chain binding the front door to the hunting cabin, and then it was over. Sam blinked
hard and pulled the trigger. The bolt sang through the air and bit hard into the neighbor’s skull. The thump of its dead frame brought a certain joy to her face. Abraham could almost hear her say, I did it.
The padlock parted as Abraham used a tarnished key that hung around his neck. He left the door ajar and went to collect supplies. Looking through the window in the back, he saw another of the infected stirring about outside. It pushed its nasty, decomposed flesh against the window and pressed, revealing hideous details in the dim, red light. It sensed them. Abraham approached and opened the window. The thing reached out its infected hands and threaded them through the opening.
“You filthy monster,” he whispered as he hammered an old railroad spike into the things eye—deeper and deeper until the infected freak slipped down into the blanket of pine needles.
“It’s dead,” Sam said, showing a great deal of resolve. Abraham didn’t like the look she gave him. Her wide eyes accused him of enjoying the killing. He wanted to remind her she smiled when she saw Rictor burning, but he didn’t have the time.
Behind them, Hunter slung a few bandoleers of ammo across his chest and then picked up a fresh survival pack. “And to think three years ago, I thought you were crazy,” he said as his face broke into a tired grin.
“Hurry up and get to the Blazer,” Abraham replied. He slung an assault rifle over his shoulder and thought the icy chill of the metal felt respectable. Then and there, he saw Sam twanging the crossbow. He almost understood her awareness as he flinched at the sound of the cord flinging forward and launching the bolt. Abraham hit the ground in a hurry, and felt his body for holes. That crazy bitch, he told himself. Lost in the moment, he shifted and saw the bolt deep in the skull of the diseased thing he had just stabbed. A starburst of gore and bone fragments splattered about.
“I guess it wasn’t dead,” she said, shrugging her narrow shoulders. “You didn’t think I was going to shoot you, did you?” she asked, showing her teeth.
Abraham snarled as quiet as he could. He snatched a survival bag and then tossed it to the girl wearing a menacing smile. “You might prove useful,” he whispered, careful to watch her fluttering eyes. Abraham was annoyed by his grandson’s soft laugher in the background. “Shut up!” Hunter fell silent when he saw the curved edges of Abraham’s mouth. For the first time the boy actually listened.
It was dark outside as a gust of wind ushered in a series of dark clouds. It shielded them from the eerie crimson light of Red Dead, and it felt pacifying upon his exposed skin. The temperature had an icy tint to it, cutting through his flannel and pinching his skin. Abraham crept across the space back toward the farm house. Cautious, he avoided a pair of infected freaks, their gazes locked toward the darkened sky. Their vacant eyes, slack jaws, and seedy faces suggested they missed the crimson color of the night. I hope you never see the red again. He watched them for any proof to his theory.
The dead appeared to freeze in place like a child searching the sky for life. They all looked up as if to curse the storm clouds. “I knew it,” he said, wishing his son Robb had stayed behind. Robb would have understood the science behind the phenomenon. Yet, the fool stormed off to save the day, and was now probably dead. He had to be; everything was dead and rotting in a discolored kind of way.
“Should we burn it to the ground?” Hunter asked.
Abraham focused on the last three years and tried to remember any bit of good. Yet, all he recalled was a string of bad memories. It was here his grandson lost his father and mother to duty. It was here he watched his daughter Alison join the North with her no-good husband. It was here Hunter killed his other grandpa, and in doing such enabled Robb to escape to the South. And it was here the rest of his family was torn away from him by an unknown group. Abraham struggled to overcome the strangling thoughts of reality, his reality. He felt like screaming and then killing every infected corpse on the farm. Was this the beginning of his lunacy? Or had it begun a long time ago? I don’t think so, he thought, welling up in tears.
“We leave it,” he finally said, winded and shaking. I’ll return one day, he thought, and I’ll have my family with me. He marched quiet toward the big black ’76 Blazer. The shadows of the slight stirring from the infected made his heart race. However, they remained frozen and locked upon the churning and rolling clouds. The best part was the high frequency of the buzzing had fallen too.
Scratching at his chin, he reflected on a poem his wife had told him. Nothing comes close to a mother’s love and the way she feels and adores her children. Was this the same love Red Dead shared with the infected freaks? Was that even possible? Were they somehow that planet’s bastard children? It sure seemed to be. That crimson illumination seemed to give the diseased freaks life and power. It was like the shade of red was a cheerleader, calling out praise for every inch of space they infected and spoiled.
Bringing a strained hand to his eyes, he wondered what would happen if the mother was taken away forever. Would the infected corpses fade away or would they unleash a child’s scorn? Or was Abraham mad?
“Grandpa Heinz! Grandpa, it’s time to go,” said Hunter, shaking his grandpa’s shoulder.
Abraham turned and pressed his back to the cold steel of the vehicle, his fists doubled, his wits stretched. “Good-bye,” he said, peeling the door open. There were too many of the infected oddities. He knew they wouldn’t stand a chance. Beth told him to stay away from the gas station. Maybe he should have listened. It might have saved his family. Good-bye never came easy, and it left its nasty residue upon his sticky mind.
“Good gracious,” he muttered, trying not to choke up. The clouds had parted for the moment. Then, a thunderous boom assaulted his ears. As he stood there with his hands pressed over his lobes, the infected freaks came back to life and with them the terrible buzzing sound from hell. Yet, that wasn’t the assaulting sound he heard. He looked out across the daunting house to the sealed barn and saw the glowing mocha-colored eyes of a little girl standing near the open loft doors on the second level of the barn.
“Emme,” he said, closing the truck door. “And she has a gun.”
VII
Abraham was up and on the run. A bittersweet sense circled his soul. Emme’s alive. He plucked a hammer from a work bench and split the first putrid skull close to enough to taste his wrath. He ducked under the branches of the cottonwood, splashing his carved features with fresh blood. More and more plasma slapped his body as he swung the hammer toward the diseased freaks breaking out of the big red barn. The trapped creatures poured out like a river.
“Emme, you wait up there,” he yelled, and when he did, a band of infected shifted his direction. He slapped them across their temples and followed up breaking one’s moldy cheek. Rotten, withered hands reached out to greet him. He howled at them and swung down hard, fracturing bone and spilling brains. They didn’t smell too good; of course, he didn’t smell fresh himself. His nostrils flared like a thoroughbred champion kicking down the final stretch of the track.
“Let go of him, you jack wagon.” He heard Emme scream. That was something he used to say. “Go back to hell,” the twelve-year-old hollered, tossing down a shovel at one of the infected. “I hate you!” Emme had picked up her foul mouth from hanging out with Abraham.
“Emme, hold on!” Abraham glided over a broken car and stomped down an infected freak. His boot crushed the soft, rotten noddle until it spilled a bunch of plump worms.
“Get back!” Emme screamed, tossing a rake down. On her shoulders was her little black backpack stuffed with little girl things. She was too innocent for this world.
He continued toward his barn, killing anything that stood in his way. Sucking air through his mouth, he clenched his fists tight around the base of the hammer. Standing in a web of fungus was Mr. Tompkins.
“You stay back,” Abraham slurred. “Dammit, Barony, I’m not playing with you!” Like the mindless beast he was, Barony staggered forward and dove for Abraham. The blast from Hunter’s gun left Ab
raham’s ears ringing as a gaping hole was left in the middle of his neighbor’s face. “I warned you,” Abraham stuttered. Abraham didn’t feel bad that would come later.
Emme managed to kick a bucket down to the first level. The squishy thud brought Emme back from the ledge as she shook in violent tremors. “Take that, you piece of garbage,” she yelled down.
It was Barony’s brother, Timmy; he rose with fractured limbs and lunged toward Abraham. Old Abraham dropped his hammer and reached for his pistol. The crusty old man swallowed his agony and fired, his eyes cold as a serpent. The first shot slammed into Timmy’s clustered shoulder. However, the creature’s momentum drove Abraham into the ground. The dull teeth of Timmy tore at Abraham’s flannel like a zealous dog, his dislocated jaw swallowing clumps of the cheap fabric.
That’s when something snapped in Abraham Heinz. His hands nailed up under Timmy’s cleft chin, and after the third strike, he gripped Timmy’s neck and squeezed. Rolling over, Abraham was now on top of the flesh-eating disease. He clawed his thumbs through its puss-filled eye sockets and pressed his fists through the decomposed skull. A slurping sound followed the creature’s brain as it shot out its eyes, ears and nose.
“You killed him,” Emme wailed from the second floor. Abraham saw her wide eyes flooded with tears. He knew her little mind was trying to understand what she had witnessed. “You can’t do that.”
“Dammit, Emme, get down here,” he snapped. He rested his stained hands on his knees and climbed to his feet. No cuts, he considered, looking at his hands.
“Timmy came by yesterday. I saw him talking with Grandma,” Emme shrieked. “And you crushed his face.” She disappeared, hiding in the shadows of the second floor. “You’re not my grandpa.”
“Timmy wasn’t himself, not anymore. Listen to me—we have to go,” Abraham said, turning back toward the mind bending sound of something immense. “Seriously? Can’t I get a flipping break?”
“Grandpa, we have a problem,” hollered Hunter, sprinting into the battered barn. He stopped short when he caught the sight of Abraham. “You got blood all over you.”
“So do you,” Abraham replied, wiping a clump of flowery gore from his flush cheek. The appearance of his grandson wavered and then came back into focus.
“It’s a septic,” shouted Sam somewhere outside in the darkness.
That was a major problem. Encouraging thoughts were in short supply. For all Abraham believed, there hadn’t been a shred of good luck in three years.
“Hunter, get up to the second floor and get your damn sister.” Abraham sprinted out of the barn and stopped dead in his tracks. Mad as hell, he holstered his pistol and cussed. At the far edge of the driveway, the frenzied septic stomped its feet into the ground, shaking everything within an acre. Abraham lifted his slung 55.6 carbine and fired a few shots into its cauliflower, pug face. The bullets had no effect. The deep-seared skin of the septic gave life to his nightmare. “It’s the big guy from the mill,” he hollered back. “It must have followed us.”
“It’s still alive,” Hunter barked, breaching the crown of the ladder to the second floor of the barn. On the second story, the boy was on the same level as the hysterical septic; its skin reeked of excrement, ash, and fouler things. “Coming straight for us,” the boy warned, sending the rifle bolt forward and getting ready to send the demon back to hell.
Abraham watched his grandson proudly.
“Make it go away!” screamed Emme. The freak’s sonic cry boomed like some sort of futuristic military weapon out of a science fiction movie. The sound forced Emme to tear the rechargeable hearing aids from her ears. There was a ring of birds that scattered from the trees and darted for safer branches, if such a thing existed. “I want Grandma!”
“I do too,” Hunter said as he got down and took aim at the parasitic features of the profane fiend. He fired with surgical precision. The empty brass flew out as he rocked the rifle bolt back and then inserted the next. It was a big fucking round. Yet, it did nothing to the walking septic tank. Its saturated stink of fungus and parasites swallowed the bullets. Hunter looked at the rifle to make sure it wasn’t a toy. “It’s not working.”
“Where’s Sam?” Abraham shouted turning away from his grandchildren.
Hunter scanned the shadows. “She’s on the roof of the farm house.”
At the base of the tree was a horde of the infected tearing at the jagged bark. At that moment, the rest of the clouds parted as if the Red Mother were coming to the diseased freaks’ rescue. Abraham had slammed one of the large bay doors closed and was working on the second. With every reserve of strength, body, and mind, he heaved. Yet, when he sensed the crimson light, he knew the bad was about to take a dive for worse. Shit! Shit! Shit! The second door crashed closed and he fixed a wedge of timber between the rough notches and fell back. “That ought to hold them,” he gasped, reaching out his hand and climbing back to his feet.
At first there was only scratching at the bay door, then the rest of the infected slammed against the sturdy wood, trying to pry it open. He stood slack jawed and grinned. “Is that all you got?” His head felt empty, and he sank back toward the ladder, vision clouded, pain raging from the depths of his body. His hair was stained red and dripping in the remains of his undead victims.
As if the alien fungus understood his wise crack, the brutal septic charged like a steaming bull fighting to protect its life.
“Grandpa!” Hunter shrieked, rolling away from the high loft doors, above the locked bay doors. It was too late; the foul thing lowered its frame and exploded into the lumber, tearing apart the hinges. The twisting sound of metal was pleasant compared to the hideous sound waves of the immense freak. Emme curled up as part of the roof caved. The septic smashed over and over against the splintering wood. It was relentless in its desire for revenge.
“Are we sick? I don’t want to be one of them,” Emme said, plugging back in her hearing aids. Abraham’s other daughter Lilly was a scientist and created a rechargeable battery system for the device. Emme could hear without them, but certain frequencies fell deaf upon her eardrums. Starved of the solar power of the farm, she would have to learn to survive without them.
“Holy smokes,” Hunter snapped, aiming down the slanted loft doors. It was like awakening from a nightmare. Hunter was too young to understand what his grandfather had experienced in conflict. All Abraham could hear was his little granddaughter both far and near. At that point, the floor splintered and he felt gravity sucking him down toward the mammoth mouth of the creature. Hunter wedged his feet between fractured timbers and poked the tip of the barrel against the final notch and held his position for the moment. “Help!”
“Hunter!” Emme weaved through the broke structure and tossed down a cord of rope that was already secured to a hinge. “Climb, you stupid boy!” Emme must have sounded like her grandpa to Hunter. Abraham watched everything with bated breath.
The towering septic paused a moment just below the loft doors. The crimson light shone on its blistered face and must have reminded Emme of the terrible day her mother and father left. Abraham remembered Tori planting kisses on Emme’s forehead and squeezing her like a teddy. He saw the color disappear from her cheeks. Abraham shot across the barn, ready to face the beast.
The septic howled its buzzing cry, then slammed against the loft doors again. It was trying to tear Hunter down. Sometimes Hunter was a jerk to his sister, but the boy didn’t deserve to digest in the foul-smelling things stomach.
“Grandpa, do something!”
Hunter lost his rifle as it slid down into the monster’s rampage. He wrapped his forearms around the frayed rope as the rest of the floor boards were sucked down. It was like a jagged wood chipper crushing several yards below. The boy did the only thing he could—scream like a little girl. Hunter dangled above the snapping jaw of the septic as Abraham felt a certain rage take over him.
Abraham gripped the icy steering wheel of his tractor until his knuckles were white. He l
oved his grandchildren too much; it hurt to think of anything else bad happening to one of them. Both had lost their parents and he lost his son.
He screamed in a hysterical frenzy as his foot floored the gas pedal. The engine of the tractor whined as it plowed ahead. The sound of the timber exploding was followed by the spurts of toxic blood spraying against the protective windshield with a thump. He didn’t stop; instead, he slammed the pedal harder, despite the parasitic gore raining all around. The right leg collapsed under the septic as it was forced back, snapping whatever moldy joint was holding it together. The creature was distracted and disoriented, and on its back.
Abraham knew this was his only chance. He pressed harder as the wheels fought for footing, digging deeper into the awful flesh of the beast and a dozen of its lesser friends. The septic’s auditory yowl lasted for several seconds as its branched hands tried to heave the big green tractor off its mushy frame. Abraham simply stared ahead at the fifty shades of red, gasping and trembling, until his eyes took him to a dark place. A place that only existed in the mind of a parent trying to save their child—or grandchild.
Then, it was over, the carnage, the fright; it all ended with a loud slurping sound crushing the remains of the septic like a blender. The huge wheels spun in reckless abandon, the sound a sweet symphony.
“Nobody hurts my family,” he sang. “I don’t care how big you are.”
Abraham slumped forward in the torn tractor seat, pressing his hands tighter against the wheel. Sometimes he could think clear, and sometimes it was the demons whispering their lies. He touched the cold door handle and exhaled. Is it over?
He winced as he hit the ground. Yet, standing there like an angel in the distance was sweet little Emme. She pushed her purple glasses up the slope of her button nose, then ran to him. No matter what, he had loved her from the first moment he could remember. Even as a baby, only Grandpa Abraham could calm her frantic crying spells. The warm embrace must have meant safety.
He held her against his pounding chest and whispered, “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” she replied, wiping her dripping nose against the only clean spot on his shirt.
He pulled back and looked her up and down. “What happened?”
“The men in yellow suits with breathing masks came and told Uncle Peter it wasn’t safe. They said the infection had claimed all of the nearby towns. Uncle Peter tried to tell them we were staying and waiting for you, but the men insisted. Our family was loaded up on armored buses and taken. Grandma was crying like crazy.” Emme looked as if she were about to cry again.
“They left you behind?” he asked, brushing one of her rebellious light brown curls out of her shaky face.
“I hid. I didn’t want to go without you. I knew you would come back. I got trapped in the barn with all of those dead bodies. Only they weren’t dead.” Emme’s arms and legs were stiff when she wiggled out from his grasp. “There is blood on the ground, blood on the sky, and blood all over you!”
“Trust me, I hate the color red too,” he said, realizing the infected had devoured all of the farm animals.
Far off over the mountains, Emme heard the buzzing of more infected freaks. When her brother placed a hand on her back, she quivered. “More are coming,” she said, putting an arm around Hunter and giving him a big hug.
He only stared at her with big eyes. “Can you hear them?” Hunter questioned trying to listen for the buzzing sound. “I can’t hear anything.”
“They are coming,” she warned, adjusting her hearing aids. “They’re still far away, but they’re coming.”
In the background there was only the sound of heavy wind and the drip of water. It was the first time Abraham felt like he was without the terrible sound. Morning had come to save them. The sunlight would chase the monsters back into the dark crevices of the mountains. “We should be safe,” he replied.
The swelling in Hunter’s face was bright and would leave a healthy bruise. The boy had a few minor cuts from the collapsing of the barn, but considering the size of the septic; Abraham thought he got off easy. Showing his smile, he pulled the boy and his sister into his warm embrace and sobbed.
“Where did these men take them?”
“I would guess Denver. What about the farm?” Emme asked, placing an ear to his chest as if to listen to the pounding of his heart.
Abraham had come to this place to survive, and it was going to be hard to leave. One moment, they were laughing and playing games, the next moment stole everything. Abraham turned his head back toward the farm house and sighed. “Our time at the farm is over. Fix your eyes in the opposite direction, for that is our future.”
He listened for the voice of reason. However, only the terrible evil spoke to him. The animals were dead, his family taken, but at least two of his grandchildren were safe. He grabbed the little girl and pulled her close. “We’ll find Grandma and then the rest of our family. I swear that to you, my little princess.”
“That thing got enough juice to make it to Denver?” Sam asked, emerging from the curve of the farm house. Her green tank top was now brown-red. She picked up the hammer Abraham had used from the dirt and held it out in her open palm. “Sugar, you might want to keep this. I think it suits you.”
Abraham made himself look at all the carnage. Flesh, fungus, and blood battered together like a cake mix. It took him a moment to realize these things had once been human. The infected no longer looked like people. The fungus had eaten their eyes, and sometimes their faces. He took the bloody hammer and smiled.
“I did what I had to do, and would do it again,” he promised, adjusting his glasses. “If the rest of the way is stuffed with this infected dung, then no, we won’t make it to Denver with the little gas left in the tank.” He regarded the bits of bones and pieces of flesh strung about the area. “But it is a step in the right direction.”
He watched his grandson look up and noticed Sam’s curvy figure.
“Glad you made it,” Hunter said, smiling at the beautiful girl.
“Honey, I’m not going to die. Not until I find my brother. It seems that fate has strung us together. And it’s clear as mud it wants us to travel to Denver or whatever is left of the Mile High City. How about we all get a change of clothes before we set out into the great unknown?”
“But more of them are coming,” Emme warned, tugging on her grandpa’s sleeve.
“Look,” Hunter said, pointing at the first rays of dawn. “The sun will drive them away. We should be safe until dusk.”
Abraham chewed on Sam’s words. They were the same words his wife would have spoken. Yes, believing everything happened for a reason was a bit childish. The universe was vast; the country alone more miles than he could ever walk. The wind could have been wrong, but maybe he simply needed to believe in something. Somewhere out there, far away, his family needed him. The connection of his heart wavered in his heavy chest. I’m coming, Beth. Looking up at the fading stars, he wondered if his wife was looking up at the same blistered morning sky and thinking of him. He turned back toward the truck while everyone else took off to the house. He heard Emme introduce herself to Sam, and promise Sam that she could wear some of her aunt’s clothes. The morning glory had stretched across his wary face, and the daylight gave him strength, strength to fight on in a world of shit and piss. I will search for my family for now and forever.
VOLUME 2: THE ECHO OF DECAY
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Abraham’s nightmare has just begun…
After a narrow escape, Abraham Heinz and the rest of his group set out to find his missing family members. The hostile territory takes them to an old friend, hiding away in what is left of a crumbling mountain town.
Abraham finds his friend and is thankful for shelter from the infected freaks roaming the desolate landscape. However, he quickly discovers that his old friend has dangero
us secrets. Abraham must decide if the life of a stranger is worth trading for his missing family.
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Infected Freaks Volume One: Family First Page 4
