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 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, feeling 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 Mount
ains 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.
***
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.”
Infected Freaks (Book 1): Family First Page 5