Infected Freaks Volume One: Family First Page 2

  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 brick 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 th
e 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 ambers, 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.