Infected Freaks Volume One: Family First Read online

  ***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “At least they can’t climb,” he breathed out.

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

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

  IV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  In the darkness he heard Samantha call out. “I’ve never seen a big guy like that.”

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

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

  Abraham didn’t know how to explain the abomination. “It reeked worse than a highland skunk.”

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

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

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

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

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

  “I don’t know.” Abraham was finding it hard to imagine, at least on the surface.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “What was your brother’s name?” Hunter asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “So you didn’t like the town?” Hunter questioned, ducking down to examine a broken twig.

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

  Here it comes, Abraham told himself, reading the girl’s curious face. She is going to finally give me some answers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Should I stop talking?”

  “No keep talking and walking.”

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

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

  “Weeks ran by, and his mood grew fouler.”

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

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

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

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

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

  “Or what?” the boy snapped.

  Abraham clenched his teeth and darted in that direction.

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

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

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

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

  “Yes,” she answered.

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

  “We continued through Salida and continued north on Highway 285.”

  “They were waiting for you, weren’t they?” questioned Abraham.

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

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

  The boy had been quiet. Abraham almost lost him.

  “Rictor was a monster.”

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

  “Shut up, boy,” Abraham growled, rolling his eyes.

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

  Abraham looked at Hunter with raised eyebrows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “You don’t have too,” Abraham said, turning his focus back toward the bastard sky. Stop staring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “I thought for the longest time I was talking to myself,” Abraham said, feel
ing at ease. “And those infected freaks are no angels.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  V

  “Look,” Samantha said, pointing through the cords of branches.

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

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

  You got to be shitting me, he mused.

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

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

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

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

  “Beth,” he wailed, fumbling toward the stairs. She has to be alive. Bleeding through the curtains in his bedroom was the putrid color of red.

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

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

  “Beth,” he gasped.

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

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

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

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