She looks at the tablet in her hand, then back at the screen. The corner of her mouth twitches slightly as she begins reading the words provided by one of the producers.
"Those who have been bitten or scratched are now considered to be infected as well. There have been several confirmed reports of people dying after being admitted to the hospital for superficial wounds, and I...I can't believe I'm saying this...each of these victims allegedly reanimated shortly after they died. Authorities are advising individuals to avoid contact with anyone who has obvious bites or scratches." She pauses and stares into the camera, seemingly at a loss for words. After a moment she says, "If you are a person of faith, now is the time to pray."
The videos playing on the green screen behind her indicate that whatever this is, it's spreading; it's not just in the United States anymore. What may have started here, didn't stay here, thanks to international travel. It's everywhere now.
Even in Russia and North Korea.
I look at Daniel. I can tell he's thinking the same thing I am. This was no terrorist attack. This is something much worse. A nation can rebuild after a terrorist attack; after all, people have an innate ability to rebound from a certain level of devastation. But this?
I'm not sure anyone or anything can rectify what has gone so terribly wrong.
And whatever it is.....it's moving fast.
I feel displaced, even in my own home. I don't know what to do or how to pass the time, so I just watch the news and try to call family and friends who don't, or can't, answer their phones. I release a long sigh and tap my fingers on the armrest of the couch until I can't stand it any longer.
"I'm going to try Mom and Dad again," I say, reaching for the phone.
"Chloe..."
"What? Don't waste my time?" I shake my head. "I'm not giving up until the signal dies, Daniel. I don't care how many times it goes to voicemail."
He watches as I dial Mom's number again. I know he thinks it's useless, and a small part of me agrees. They never answer, but it's something to do...and when you're a prisoner in your own house, any distraction is a good distraction. Two rings. Three. No answer. I end the call and dial Dad's number. One ring. Two. Three. Suddenly, my mother's frantic voice fills my ear, "Chloe?! Daniel?!"
I sit forward, immediately alert. "Mom, it's me! Can you hear me?"
"Chloe, where...you? Is Daniel with you?"
"Mom! Yes, we're together. Daniel and me, I mean. We're at the house. Where are..."
"Chloe?! Honey, I....you. The sig...cutting...and out."
My fingers tighten around the phone. "Mom, I can't hear you! You're breaking up. Where are you?"
I strain to hear, but her words are fading in and out, and there's a buzzing noise in the background that sounds like a hundred different people talking all at once. It sounds frantic and chaotic...desperate.
"Ask her where she is. Ask her!" Daniel urges.
I shoot him an annoyed look. "I'm trying, Daniel!" Turning my attention back to the phone, I ask, "Mom, where...?"
"...come here. It's not...here, Chloe."
I only catch every other word, but something in my mother's voice reminds me of a dark afternoon long ago. I was younger then, maybe 4 or 5 years old, and I think I had been dozing under the shade of a large tree. Maybe it was an oak tree...at least, I remember it being an oak tree...although, it could have been a different species of tree altogether. My skin prickles in goose flesh as the faded memory pours over me like icy water. I remember hearing my mother's voice that day...far away, muted...screaming my name over and over like she feared I was gone forever. I don't recall what happened before, or after, that. As far as I know, my parents never mentioned the incident again. Sometimes I wonder if it even happened at all, or if I imagined the entire thing...some false memory born from something I had seen on television or in a family photo album.
I grip the phone tighter. "Mom? I can't hear you. It's not what there? Where are you? Is Dad okay?"
"...Dad love you bo...stay home, okay?"
The line goes dead.
"Mom...Mom!"
I try the number again, but it goes straight to voicemail. Daniel sits down beside me. "Call her again!"
I hold a hand up, signaling for him to give me a minute. "I'm trying, but It's not going through!"
He runs a hand through his hair, obviously frustrated. "Well, what did she say? Where are they? Did she tell you anything?"
A dark and murky wave of helplessness crashes into me, knocking the breath out of my lungs and dragging me under the surface, despite my attempts to stay afloat. I look at Daniel, tears in my eyes. "I...I couldn't make out what she was saying. Every other word was cutting out, and..."
"Could you hear anything? Anything in the background that might be useful?"
His insistence is irritating. Not because he doesn't have a right to ask questions, but because I have no answers to give him. I rub a hand across my face, thinking. Suddenly, I remember the noise in the background. "It sounded like she was around other people. Living people, not Revs. I could hear people talking." I shake my head, replaying the conversation in my head. "At least, that's what it sounded like. I guess it could have been anything, though."
Daniel thinks for a minute, then snaps his fingers. "The shelters!"
"Huh?"
"They have shelters in each of the larger cities. I would assume that includes Asheville."
"That would explain all the voices in the background."
"Try calling her again."
I dial the number again, but no luck. Frustrated, I toss the phone onto the couch beside me. "At least we know she's alive. Dad, too. She mentioned him, anyway, so that's promising."
Daniel nods. "Yes, it's good. Let's hope they stay that way."
* * *
Daniel
I've always thought Heather Voight was pretty, but even the most talented hair and make-up artist in the world couldn't hide the toll the past few days have taken on her. Her blonde hair is limp and lifeless, her face pale and drawn, and her green eyes are glazed over. I briefly wonder if she's medicated, then realize it doesn't matter.
She listlessly reports that authorities believe the incident started in Texas, then spread to the rest of the United States through airports and interstates. I'm not sure I agree with that, because how did it get to Everly so fast, if that was the case? We're a good forty-five minutes from any interstate, stuck in the middle of nowhere. Yet it seemed to affect us the same time as the larger cities.
Suddenly, Heather's report is interrupted by a special announcement. The screen goes black, then switches to a stately blue room filled with reporters. The American flag bears silent witness in the background. A solemn looking man enters the room from the left. It's the Vice-President of the United States. He takes his place behind the wooden lectern.
"Fellow Americans. We face an unprecedented pandemic...."
I listen while he urges Americans to remain calm, assuring us help is on the way. He also assures us our President is safe and secure in an undisclosed location.
Well, good for him, and all the protection his role affords.
Before the press conference ends, he begins reciting the 23rd Psalm. "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…”[2]
"Turn it off."
I look at Chloe, surprised. "Why?" I ask.
She folds her arms over her chest. "He's freaking me out with that scripture. Turn it off."
I do as she asks, because truth be told, it's freaking me out, too. It makes everything seem that much more real...and final. I stand and peek through the living room blinds to see if anything new is happening outside. I spot a few more neighbors packing their cars to leave. Row after row of SUVs and Minivans are parked in driveways, trunks open, stuffed full of items neighbors hastily deemed imperative for survival; clothes, suitcases, bags full of food and even larger bags filled with toys. I wonder how they plan to fit any people in the cars once they're actu
ally ready to leave.
"Should we think about leaving, too?" I ask Chloe over my shoulder.
She comes to stand beside me at the window. "I don't know. Yesterday you said it could be dangerous."
"Yeah, but we haven't seen any Revs this far out yet. Maybe we could make it to the highway. Drive to Asheville? We could try to get to Mom and Dad."
"The news said the highways are gridlocked."
"In the larger cities, yes, but this is Everly. I bet we could get close to Asheville before it got too bad."
Frantic screams rise up from the house across the street, like a flock of startled birds, sudden and unexpected. Seconds later, I see Horace and Gladys Beckett drop the grocery bags they had been loading into their car and race toward their front door, screaming, "they're coming from the trees!" over and over.
Chloe gasps. "Are the doors locked?!"
"Yes." I crane my head to see if I can see anything moving around their house. "I don't see anything, though. Maybe they're mistaken."
Gladys trips and falls. Her face screws into an ugly grimace as she grabs her ankle. Horace turns to help her, but before he can get her to her feet again, a Rev lumbers into their front yard. Gladys screams louder. Horace tries to fight the Rev, but it's no use.....after a brief struggle, the Rev latches onto Horace's outstretched arm, ripping into his aging skin with its ever-gnashing teeth.
I've watched enough news reports to know Horace is as good as dead.
Rule #1: Don't let them bite you. Ever.
Two more Revs limp into the Beckett's front yard. They descend on Gladys, cutting her screams short as they tear into her throat. The neighbors to their left, Bill and Shirley Hamrick, are in their driveway, fighting off three other Revs. The result is the same; they're dead in a matter of minutes. I want to turn away, but I can't. Not because I'm curious, but because I don't want to lose sight of the Revs. I want to be ready if they decide to come over and pay us a visit.
I glance at Chloe. "Go get the gun."
* * *
Chloe
I can't believe that just happened.
My heart is racing, and I’m having a hard time catching my breath.
Horace and Gladys were always so nice to Daniel and me. So were the Hamricks. Now they're all dead, their bodies lying in front of their homes like macabre garden decorations, broken and discarded. Well, except for Shirley Hamrick. She’s back up, lumbering around the neighborhood...another Rev happily accepted into their growing fold.
"We should move away from the window," Daniel advises. He jerks the curtains closed.
I agree. I'm not sure which of the five senses they're working off of right now, but the thought they might see us peeking through the living room window unnerves me.
We scurry back to the couch and sit down. I run a hand nervously through my hair. "I can't believe it. They're all dead."
"Not all of them," Daniel says.
I remember how Shirley Hamrick looked when she rose from the dead; dazed, emptied of all awareness, yet at the same time, instinctively moving in unison with the other Revs. On toward the next victim or victims.
"Why do some get back up and others don't?" I ask.
"Who knows? According to the news, authorities are still trying to figure that out," Daniel says, shrugging. "If they know, they're not telling us."
I reach for the TV remote. "I'm gonna check the news again. See what's happening."
"Keep the volume down. I don't want to attract any of those things to our door."
I nod and wait for the screen to snap into focus. When it does, Heather Voight is onscreen, delivering reports coming in from around the area.
"Governor McBrayer has issued a state of emergency...."
No kidding.
"...and has deployed the National Guard to various cities across the state. They will work with first responders to secure shelters and hospitals first, before moving on to smaller municipalities."
I look at Daniel. "Do you think they'll send anyone here?"
He laughs. "To Everly?"
“She said smaller municipalities,” I remind him.
“If they come here, it’ll be one of their last stops.”
We sit there for a minute longer, each lost in our own thoughts and worries.
"What will we do once the food runs out?" I finally ask.
"Well," he says, not taking his eyes off the television, "when it runs out, we'll have to leave."
Chapter Seven
Daniel
Day three ends worse than it began. Four more neighbors are attacked as they try to leave their homes. Two get up and join the ranks of the dead shortly after they perish. Two stay down. I don't understand why some come back while others stay dead. No one else has been able to shed any light on that mystery, either. There have been theories, sure, but no expert has come on television and claimed this thing or that thing causes some to reanimate while others go on to the hereafter.
The numbers of Revs are steadily rising. Luckily, none of them have come close to our house...yet...but to be safe, we're staying as quiet as we can during the day. No sounds other than the television turned to the lowest possible volume. We don’t know if the Revs can see or hear, but we decide not to chance it, in case they can. Once the sun sets, we avoid all lights and sound except for a small flashlight to help us get to the bathroom or bedrooms.
The nights are crawling with Revenants.
I peek through the living room blind just as the last of the sun's rays sink behind the Beckett's house. It would have been a pretty sunset, but the herd of Revs stumbling around muted some of its beauty. I let the blinds snap shut and grab the flashlight. In a few more minutes, it'll be too dark to see. The last bit of daylight seeps from the room. As the color bleeds out, I notice Chloe sitting on the couch. She looks worried, like she expects us to die any minute.
"Hey," I say, getting her attention.
She looks up at me. "Yeah?"
I smile, even though I don't feel like it. "We're going to be okay," I say.
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
I take a seat beside her on the couch, wondering how much longer I can make good on that lie.
* * *
Chloe
The Bible is resting on my lap.
I've been holding it without really noticing. It feels good in my hands. Like a shield. I've prayed until I can't remember what I've prayed for, and what I haven't. So I just end up praying the same desperate prayer over and over again, like a broken record.
I figure it can't hurt.
Daniel sits down beside me, and leans back, trying to relax. "Find any answers in that thing?" he asks, gesturing toward the book.
I roll my eyes. "It's not a thing, Daniel. Show a little respect."
"Sorry. I've just never seen you carrying it around before."
"Well, I've never been hiding from Revenants before, either,” I say. “I guess there's a first time for everything."
"That's true."
I hold the Bible tighter. "Just leave me alone, okay? It makes me feel better having it near."
"Whatever makes Chloe happy," he says shortly.
He’s trying to get under my skin. Picking a fight for no other reason than because he can, like siblings often do. It’s working.
"You could try to have a little faith, you know. It wouldn't kill you," I say.
"No, that’s true...the Revs'll take care of that."
"Don't say that, Daniel."
"Why not?"
"Well, because it might jinx us."
He laughs. "So, which is it, Chloe? Are we putting our money on faith or luck?"
"I hate when you do that."
He reaches out and shoves my shoulder playfully, letting me know he's kidding with me. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I just don't want you getting so wrapped up in what we say or think or do...those things won't determine what happens to us."
"I know, but..."
He holds up a hand, stopping
me. "Seriously, Chloe. Praying or wishing won’t magically alter our fate. If we die, we die. That's it."
I look at my brother. He's always logical and matter-of-fact...and so irritatingly right, usually...but this time he's wrong. I shake my head. "No, Daniel. If we die, we don't just die...not anymore. And that's what I'm afraid of."
Chapter Eight
Chloe
By the fourth day, the satellite signal is gone, and I assume Heather Voight is as well. Probably dead, maybe a Rev; either way, her days of delivering the news are in the past. I'm more upset over the loss of the video feeds. Especially those highlighting the condition of major cities throughout the state...like Asheville, where our parents are.
"Do you think they're okay?" I ask Daniel.
"I don't know...I hope so."
I take a deep breath, then release it slowly. "I'm so worried about them. They could be hurt, or worse, they could be......"
"Chloe, stop."
So, I do. I stop speculating about the fate of our parents, Scott, and everyone else I know and love, and quietly assume they're dead or will be dead before it's all over. I've also accepted the hard truth that Daniel and I will probably join them sooner rather than later.
* * *
Daniel
I'm a little worried.
No, that's an understatement. I was worried the day we fled Hannah’s Cafe, but when the satellite signal went out earlier, I became absolutely terrified. Before communications went dark, Chloe tried to reach our parents one last time. She was unsuccessful.
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