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Then the dream turned from reality and memory to nightmare. The window in the cabin crashed open, bringing in blowing snow at the same time the rerun of Full House turned into the emergency broadcasting system.

This is an emergency,
the announcer stated,
the dead are rising
.

How ridiculous
, Malcolm thought in the dream.
The dead don’t rise
.

He remembered in the dream, looking over to his youngest son, Sam. He was really little. He sat on the floor legs crossed Indian style, with the saddest eyes looking up the Malcolm,

“Don’t let the monsters get me, Daddy.” Sam cried. “Please, Daddy.”

“No, Sam,” Malcolm told his son. “There are no such thing as monsters.”

“Dad,” Trey said sternly. “There are monsters. They’re out there.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Malcolm argued. “You’re scaring your brother.”

“Why don’t you ever believe me?”

“Why must everything be a fight with you?” Malcolm yelled.

Then, Daniel screamed. With that, the walls collapsed in a barrage of walking, rotting, dead cascaded into the room, arms extended hungrily.

Trey yelled out, “See? I was right.”

They were being invaded by carnivorous creatures and all Trey could do was make his point. Focused on Trey, he noticed that Daniel stopped screaming. Malcolm turned only to see the corpses tear his son apart. The young child was lifeless, his limbs and insides dangled from his body.

Sam kept crying out, “Daddy! Daddy!” But Malcolm couldn’t see him or find him.

“Where are you?” Malcolm asked. “Sam, answer me.”

Malcolm tried to move in dream, but it was difficult, the zombies grabbed for him, reaching for his arms and head.

“Dad! This way!” Trey called out.

“Your brother. Your brother. I have to help your brother.” Malcolm said, his heart raced and it felt so real.

“Dad.” Trey’s voice faded, it was further away.

What to do? Where to go? Malcolm desperately searched for Sam, but couldn’t find him. He cried in that dream, his heart aching and screaming out for Daniel who was torn apart.

After feeling a rush of cool breeze, Malcolm saw the door to the cabin was open. Trey must have run out there, he thought. And then Malcolm, too, with no choice raced out that door.

He could see his son in the distance. The snow came up to Trey’s midsection. Yet the teenager kept trying to run. He kept waving his arm to Malcolm to hurry up. The snow was hindering Malcolm. He tried lifting his legs high, trying to move in that snow. He got cold, very cold. The snow pelted him in the face and his body froze, and shivered. He couldn’t believe how cold it was, and as he tried to take another step, he felt the pain in his arm and he looked to see one of the walking dead gnawing on his flesh.

“No!” Malcolm screamed out. “No!” He pulled his arm away and when he did, Malcolm sat up, waking from the dream.

How much of that dream was part subconscious, and reality? He was cold. Freezing cold. In fact, his body trembled out-of-control with the shivers. What was wrong with him? His head pounded and ached. The bite he received in the dream still hurt him. Why? Then Malcolm remembered the injury. The one he received while removing the barricade. He looked at his arm. It felt as if it were swollen twice its size, and the flesh was hot to touch. The slice that would have needed stitches in the old world, was seeping. The bandage was damp. It was too dark to see. Malcolm knew by the feel of his arm, how cold he felt, he was feverish. He had an infection. He should’ve taken the time to fix that arm and clean it, but he didn’t. He had other things on his mind. Malcolm hardly thought about anything of the world. It really wasn’t that bad. Infection never crossed his mind. As he wrestled with the sleeping roll to try to warm up, Malcolm also thought of one other thing that it could possibly be.

The virus. What if it were still in the air? What if it was still viable out there? So much went through his mind, he couldn’t process it, but one thing was for sure infection or virus, Malcolm was without a doubt, very sick.

Time.

In my life I always thought how valuable time was. I always needed time for this, for that, never did I realize that at one point in my life, time would not be an issue. That I would be afforded so much of it that I couldn’t process it. That was how I felt. When Jason asked for more time to stay home before we moved on, I couldn’t argue. I was always asking for more time. He was devastated. All we could tell was that his family died. There was an extra grave, a female. In my mind, Melissa had another baby. We searched the entire house. At least I did. I was looking for clues and answers to who this man was. It was obviously Melissa’s new husband.

They were newly married when the virus broke out. In fact, from what I saw. Melissa wasted no time getting married after Jason’s supposed death.

Maybe they rushed to the altar because in the thick of things, this virus was ravaging the world. Maybe they thought, hey, let’s make the best of what we have left in this life.

Her getting remarried did not seem to bother Jason much at all. I found that very chivalrous. Because I myself would be not only devastated, I’d be pissed if Rick remarried that fast after my passing. Jason was more forgiving. He held high hopes, but I actually began to think that he started to relinquish those hopes to reality the closer we drew to his home. Grasping at life’s last little straws when he saw his neighborhood.

While I searched his home, Jason sat by the little graves, clearing them and making them perfect. I suppose he talked to his wife and his daughter. Conveying his love. I know he prayed. Because he told me when he came in, that God was watching over them now. They were in a better place. Then he asked if I found anything. In addition to the marriage certificate and lots of memories that they created pretty quickly, I did. I told him we could talk when his head was clear.

From what I pieced together this new man in their lives took care of Melissa and Daisy up until the last moment.

But where was he?

How did he survive? I would have enough time to look for those answers. Again… Time. Jason didn’t want to leave first thing in the morning, but conveyed that he would if that was what I wanted. He wanted to stay back, find some photographs, and whatever else he could take with him.

I was fine with that. We could stay a day or two, even a week. After seeing Jason’s home, our little three bedroom house in Cleveland, was probably not where I would find my family, even if they were somehow miraculously alive.

Oddly enough, I was starting to think, those who survived the horrendous event, were really somewhere out there. All together and we just had to find them.

The bloodcurdling scream caused John to snap out of his sleep. It wasn’t one of those subconscious sounds, or an animal, it was a scream. A human scream. It was real. It was Meredith.

Immediately he was consumed with panic. What was going on? He jumped up. Where was she? When they all went to sleep, they were in a small circle not far from the buggy, and now John was alone. No Grant. And Meredith screamed in the distance.

He took a moment to assess. He needed a weapon. If there was trouble he needed something to defend himself and her. Damn it, he thought, why didn’t he break out the gun? He knew why. His arrogant and confident self didn’t think there was a soul left to bother them

Grant had an insight. He felt it. He knew there was trouble. And not just from the fact that there was no brush for nature’s camouflage. The only thing that John could grab was a stick. It wasn’t big. It was dry and brittle, rendering it useless. John couldn’t waste any more time, he followed Meredith screams.

Racing toward them, he heard something else. Laughter. Not only male but female laughter. Hooting and hollering and whooping it up as if at some sort of party. To John it was the quintessential post apocalyptic game. Ravaging the world. A scenario he labeled complete and utter fiction bullshit. Nothing like that would ever happen. He had more faith in mankind. He was wrong.

Right then and there, in front of him, on the old highway, was every bad apocalypse movie playing out. It was game. From what he could see, six men encircled Meredith.

Two women were off to the side

She crawled on her hands and knees, trying to get away. Her clothes were tattered and torn from her. They kicked and pulled at her and another man grabbed her. It was well rehearsed event to them. Throwing her to the ground, laughing. One would yank her back, another would hold her, while the third mounted her. The invasion to her body caused her to cry out.

It wasn’t happening.

Grant had conveyed his fear about everything John witnessed before him.

Where was Grant?

Did he run?

Everything moved in slow motion. John’s heart pounded in his chest and he drew in the courage he needed to help.

Alone he was useless. Knowing that each second was too much and too long, John backtracked, and ran back to the buggy. The only real way to help was to get the gun.

Their vehicle wasn’t too far from where they camped out. Down off the side of the road, where they always hid the buggy when they stopped. John was certain it was still there, there was no way those people would even begin to know how to drive it, and if they did, they couldn’t do it. Grant in his neurotic state hid the battery.

He made it to the buggy and as he expected it had been ransacked. The book bags that they had left behind were empty; there were no contents to be found. He supposed they did not know what the purifier bottles were, because they were off to the side. They obviously didn’t search under the seats either. John knew that was where Grant hid the gun. He lifted up the back seat to expose the hidden compartment with the extra supplies. His hands trembled as he hurriedly grabbed the pistol and clips. After shoving one clip in the back pocket of his pants, with a trembling hand he loaded another into the handgun. As he did so, he was grateful that Grant was as scared of problems as he was. Or else, if left up to John, all the items would have been taken. Weapon loaded John raced back on the highway.

Meredith wasn’t moving at least not from what John could see. His heart pounded even more, inside he screamed, “No!”

He was a good shot. Always had been. From the time he was a boy until the time he disappeared from the face of the earth, John could fire a weapon. He had 10 good shots in that clip and another load. But he had to be fast. He moved closer to get a good aim. It was dark and the human beings gone wild, didn’t even carry any flashlight, or fire.

They probably were adjusted to the dark.

Who to hit first was the question in John’s mind. He aimed at the three men having their way with the motionless Meredith. It was a semi-automatic handgun, chamber engaged, John took aim as best as he could in the darkness lit only by the moon.

Three consecutive shots were dead on, taking out two of the assailants, and the third was hit in the shoulder. At that point John had to hurry and shoot the others. He took down the two females off the side.

Three more to go and they started to scurry around. They weren’t an easy target now and John had to move closer to where Meredith was to get a good shot. Weapon in hand, he raged forward ready to fire, ready to take charge. He had counted eight people. Six men, two women.

He didn’t see the ninth. He
never
saw the ninth.

As he raced in, directly center of them, he hovered above Meredith, in a protective stance. One hand on Meredith, he extended his arm in an aim. Finger on the trigger, ready to depress, John only got to fire one shot.

He felt the excruciating slamming pain to the back of his shoulders and John, with the force of the hit, went down, landing on Meredith. Beneath him he could feel her breathing. She was still alive. The blood from her chest seeped through onto his shirt. He cocked his head, reached out his hand for the gun and when he did, he saw Grant. The young man was off to the side; his bloody and motionless body was curled in an unnatural position, as if a rag doll just tossed aside. That brief second of looking at Grant afforded his assailants the chance to take control again. Just as his fingers grazed the gun, a bare foot slammed down on his hand and his legs were grabbed. Suddenly, he was yanked backwards, and John was literally dragged from Meredith.

He was pulled with such of force, his chin and arms ground against the pavement. He could feel the skin scraping from him.

How far did they pull him? It seemed like a mile, but it wasn’t, Meredith was still in his peripheral vision. John was maybe twenty feet away from her when the three of them stood above him.

When they grabbed him and flipped him over, John’s head collided hard with the ground.

Immediately everything faded, his vision blurred and filled with specks of light until John’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he passed out.

There were a lot of things in the medical bag that Malcolm found useful. Problem was, he should have used them earlier. When he woke in the morning, an hour later than he wanted to, his arm was swollen, and it was beet red. He opened the bag found the ibuprofen and took not just one, but downed a handful and washed them back with a pint of bourbon. He took the antibiotic ointment and lathered the wound then rewrapped it. After that he took some antibiotics. Malcolm held on with weakened confidence that it wasn’t that bad, his life depended on it.

He wanted to rest. He was tired. His head pounded like he never experienced, he knew he was still fevered because felt cold. Shivering constantly, everything was a blur, and he just couldn’t focus clearly on anything. His mind, though not as sharp as he wanted it to be, wallowed in how badly he felt. But more than that, more than being sick, getting home was on Malcolm’s mind. And he would do it. Even if it was the last thing he ever did. He would get home or die trying to get there.

<><><><>

A natural well fed the water fountain in the center of the gated community’s park. It no longer flowed upwards, in fact, the pool of the fountain was thick and filled with algae and swarming life forms that resembled snakes. The water fountain pump did work. It took Nora about thirty minutes of work to get enough water to fill one third of a bucket. She boiled it and ran it through the purifier bottle, saving a little to wash dishes.

It had been a while since she ate off a dish, nearly ten days since her awakening. She fixed a meal for her and Jason, opened a bottle of wine she found in the house, and they ate a simple meal on the patio. Nora placed some of the items she found in the house on the table.

“You did a nice job,” Nora sat back, referring to the small section Jason cleared in the yard.

“I loved this yard. It’s just so weird, not long ago I was swimming in the pool. Sitting here like this, the world … was normal. It’s shell shock.”

“I hear you.”

“So.” He placed down his glass. “Aside from finely aged wine, what do you have?”

“I found a blast from the past.”

“Nora, everything is a blast from the past.”

“True.” She set a plastic CD case on the table. “How’s that?”

Jason laughed. He lifted the CD. His picture was on the front with three other young men. They all wore the same clothing, and they were young. Possibly teenagers. “Okay, you win. Blast from the past. It was a Christian Boy Band.”

“How’d that work out for you?”

“Ever hear of Trinity?”

“Nope.”

“Then that answers your question,” Jason said.

“So you sing well.”

“I like to think so,” Jason said. “I won a Dove.”

“That’s awesome.”

“And you’re stalling. What else did you find?”

“Some things that didn’t make sense,” Nora picked through her pile. “This certification states that they were inoculated against the virus on November 12.”

Jason folded his hands and nodded.

“Here’s what I don’t get. We have Harrison saying he flipped the reset switch in December. We have the PX shut down in November. Base itself, a little later. Nashville, completely, one hundred percent closed down, and it looks like a jungle. Here not so much. And that picture. The baby is like a year? It’s Easter. They had baskets. The reset button was hit months before that. Yet, they’re all dressed up and happy.”

“I have a theory.”

“Oh, I’ll call you Meredith,” Nora joked.

Jason smiled and lifted a finger as he stood. He came back with a foil pack and opened it.

“What are you doing?”

He dumped the small tan square on the table. “Let’s say this is Nashville.” He pulled his glass closer. “This is Louisville. That plate … Cleveland.” He raised his fist. “Nashville infected.” He slammed down his hand and pieces went everywhere.

“I’m lost.”

“The virus spread out from Nashville. It bled from there. Some places sooner, some places later.  Some not at all.”

“Maybe we just need to find where the crumbs didn’t go.”

“This isn’t scientific. This is a visual aid to accompany my theory.”

“What if I’m right?” Nora asked. “What if the virus crumbs never hit somewhere. What if we are just in a dead zone?”

“Then we’ll know when we leave. Which, by the way, thank you. Thank you for staying an extra day or two.”

Nora sipped her wine and shook her head. “I have a strong feeling my family isn’t there.”

“You should have faith, Nora.”

“I do. But … that still doesn’t mean they are there. A lot of time has passed. More than we realize.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, the baby’s picture, the one on the hall table. She looks to be about three. So that’s at least three years. I was the breadwinner in my family. My husband wouldn’t be able to afford that house. He moved.”

“We should still check.”

“We will.” Nora said. “Now back to the crumbs…”

“No. You’re stalling. What else do you have?”

“We were talking about the crumbs.”

“The virus talk and theories can wait. What did you find?”

“They were living here long after the grid went down,” Nora said. “Ashes in the fireplace. The partial woodpile, they used it to heat. There were homemade oil lanterns all over the place. And I got the bucket from the laundry room, that’s why I asked about the well. It was one of many.”

Jason nodded. “What else? I know you found the marriage license.”

“I did. His name was Eugene Robert Roy.”

Jason squinted his face, pursed his lips and started to shake his head. “Why does that name … oh man. Robbie Roy. He was the head producer out of Memphis for my music.”

“How did you not recognize him?”

“I never met him face to face. Melissa was the one who handled that end.”

Nora bit her lip.

“What?”

“Well … they were married on December 20.”

“What year?”

Nora’s reply was only a glance.

“Wait. Wait. The same year they told her I died?” Jason’s voice cracked. “How is that possible? How did she meet him, decide she was in love and get married so fast after she heard of my death. When did she mourn me? Unless …”

Nora nodded. “Keep going. You’ll get there.”

“No. No way. Not Melissa. She was a good Christian woman.”

Nora held up three fingers.

“What’s that?”

“Three months. Three months from death to I do. Just sayin’.”

Jason groaned. “This is still fresh for me. It’s only been two weeks since I saw them.”

“A barren world puts mental processing on fast forward. Maybe not the emotions so much. Wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Jason stood.

“Where are you going? You’re not gonna waste any more food are you?’

“No, I’m getting our map. I want to talk about the virus theories again.”

He slipped away from the patio and into the house.

There were other items Nora found, but she would save them for another day, another evening when they needed things to talk about. For the moment, she gathered the crumbs to make room for the map. Even if it wasn’t ‘scientific’, Jason’s smash and spread virus demonstration made sense, and Nora was curious to look at the map as a whole.