Infected Freaks Volume One: Family First (2 page)

Abraham’s sour features hovered above the rocks, needles, and yellow grass, inching closer to the threshold of the cliff. His face was etched in rich dirt and carved by close to sixty years of strenuous life. The foul stench of his breath told of wasted hours spent watching and observing. Out in the distance, he saw a glimmering light kindle through the broken window of the abandoned gas station. Using his collar, he wiped at his sweaty cheek and took a second glance. His age had left his eyes in question. Yet, without a shadow of a doubt, he saw the spark of a flickering candle.
Somebody’s in the station
. What he didn’t know was how that was possible. Looking at his black banded wrist watch, he wondered if the intruders had been in there since last night or maybe longer.

The slanted sign with the goofy green dinosaur reflected the dying sunlight, causing a glare. Exhaling a grave breath, Abraham realized the comfort of daylight was about to diminish in a hurry. It was hard for him to believe it had been three years since Red Dead first appeared in the sky. He shifted back, his sore spine aching, and waited for the durable rucksack to sink into the soft earth. His deep-rooted eyes steadied and searched for his grandson. A faint outline stood erect near an old ponderosa pine. “Come on over,” he whispered, careful to cup his hands around his chapped lips. It wasn’t long before Hunter joined him on the tangled overlook. The view gave them a faultless line of sight. The teenage boy had become his strength over the tumultuous years.  Still, Hunter was brash and unwise.

“Are we heading home?” Hunter questioned, crouching near a berry bush. The boy’s stonewashed jean jacket was smeared in a week’s worth of filth and briny sweat. He slipped his hands into his pockets and stared. “What’s wrong?”

The agony on Abraham’s stamped face spoke volumes to the type of world he was forced to withstand. It had become an ugly place of horror and death. “We’re not alone.” Abraham pointed to the lambent light. He watched the boy unsling a bolt action rifle and slip behind its scope. “Can you see anything?” Abraham asked as he rested his hands on his hips and waited for the boy to scan the tiny strip of town.

“I see a filthy man in the building.” Hunter pulled back and adjusted the optics. “He’s the only one inside the gas station as far as I can tell.”

Abraham was amazed Hunter could see through the broken windows of the ruined structure. “Is it your father? Is he inside the building?”

Hunter sighed. “Nope, the flesh is too dark.” Abraham knew his grandson was ready to give up on his missing father. Robb, the boy’s father, left in a hurry two long years ago. Nobody had heard from him since, and in all reality, he was most likely dead. At least that’s what his grandson believed. Abraham hated hearing him whine. He had told Hunter a hundred times that he sounded like a little girl. It wasn’t meant to be mean; it was just the way Abraham was wired. The Apocalypse caused the old man to callous. In a way, Abraham knew Hunter was having a difficult time. That’s why he put up the sass.

“Is it one of those things?” Abraham asked, leaning closer. He had only encountered the creatures a few times. Each time, the infected scared the piss out of him. The buzzing hum was terrible.

Hunter rolled up his cuffs, pinching his gun between his side and elbow. “The infected, no, this is a normal human best I can tell.”

Abraham had come to hate the infected freaks. Whatever they were, it was something dreaded. “Daylight is running out. You ready for this?”

“Let me go,” Hunter pleaded. “You’re getting too old to keep rushing into the darkness. It should be me down there.”

Abraham shook his head and scrunched his white, bushy eyebrows. “What did you say?”

His grandson showed his teeth and this only pinched Abraham harder. “Nothing,” the boy muttered.

Abraham heard the smartass loud and clear. He decided to ignore it. “You’re the better shot,” Abraham explained, believing in the boy’s raw talent. “Besides, I left my glasses at the farm.”

“Why don’t we leave him?”

“What if he knows what’s going on? I need answers. I can’t stand the silence. I need to know if Denver is a smoking crater. Nobody ever comes back from that direction. Or maybe it’s all that is left.”

His grandson looked at him as if his words bored him. “Alright, do what you need to do.”

“Oh, never mind.” Abraham looked up at the planetary object, knowing that in less than an hour, its crimson light would bring the infected out to the abandoned highways in swarms. He didn’t want to think what the cities might actually look like. “I promise, next time you can go, and I’ll cover you. But this time, I need your eagle eyes scanning for threats. My radio broadcast is far-reaching and we don’t want any trouble.” Abraham had fed the boy the same line at least half a dozen times over the last month.

“Okay, Grandpa. Remember the candle light, you’ll draw those things like a moth to the flame once the daylight dies,” his grandson reminded him.

Hunter made it sound as if he were a parent reminding a child. This only burned Abraham’s patience more. He thought about the wretched creatures and how fast they sprung upon the Stencil Ranch and its bright lights. If Abraham hadn’t dragged Hunter out of it, his grandson would have perished with the entire family of ranchers. Remembering the sight of moldy blood threaded through the freaks’ fast fangs brought a shade of gray to his tough features. The screams of terror echoed in his mind. The monsters seemed to enjoy the warmth of light.

“We got about twenty minutes. Keep me safe.” Abraham gulped.

“Whatever,” Hunter said, rolling his piercing eyes. He rested his elbows on the edge of a dubious boulder. On his belly, he placed his focus on the optic and rested his finger parallel to the trigger.

“Never touch the trigger until you’re ready to shoot,” Abraham repeated for the third time this trip. The words
Remington
were stenciled to the stained wood frame of the high-powered rifle. The gun had served Hunter well over the years. It was the same rifle Hunter used to kill a man, a real, living human.

It took a moment for Abraham to muster the strength to carry on. Once he did, he hiked down the curved dirt pathway, staying low for cover and support. To the left and right were knots of rocks and weeds that stretched on for miles in every direction. Wild bushes and pine trees dotted the rigid landscape. A light breeze whispered through his blue flannel shirt as he kept an eye on the empty highways that intersected at the strip of town. The several buildings etched together didn’t deserve to be called a town. It was too small.

The sudden retreat of shadows at the edge of the uninhabited structure gave him pause.
Fifteen minutes. I better play it safe.
Abraham quickened his step. The last time he stayed out after dark, he all but lost his life in a bloody chase that left him bruised and his imagination on the 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.