***
Abraham froze, his heart pounding. There was no sign of the infected. Yet, the hideous sounds were all around. It was the rigorous wail of a stadium infested with bees. He moved past a mound of branches, careful to plot his steps. Abraham located a variety of potential hiding places, but none of nooks seemed promising against the horde of undead. Through the high buzzing, he recognized the familiar trickle of a creek and remembered the old mill house that sat at the edge of the back roads.
The name of the place escaped his memory, but the vast collection of warehouses and a water-powered wheel that once produced electricity was etched into his mind. The wheel had been damaged during the initial fall of the world, and last year’s drought reduced the waterway into a thirsty, dry bed. Still, the four connected buildings promised thick walls against the unseen oddities. Jumping over a falling aspen, he spotted the outline of the complex. It wasn’t long before Abraham and his group reached a broken door on the front of the compound. The entrance was already open and begging him to come inside.
Abraham entered the nameless mill several times over the years, and knew the other side opened to a clearing. He gathered himself for a few seconds, listening to the song of decay and marched into the empty lobby stripped of all furnishings. The disease had never been this close to home. It happened too fast, and his thoughts drifted toward the safety of his family at the farm house.
“This place is dark,” Sam stuttered through clenched teeth.
Abraham was pleased the dense walls had drowned out the worst of the buzzing moans stalking the forest. “Darkness is better than that god-awful crimson light.” He strode through another set of doors and turned to secure them safety behind. Breathe slowly. They don’t make heart medication anymore, he told himself, placing his boot a few inches in front of the other and inching across the dark space.
Hollow stalls and the stink of a ripe outhouse that hadn’t been emptied in years filled the larger vaulted room. He closed his eyes and remembered the loads of people who slept in the stacks of hay during the beginning of the apocalypse. All of them were heading to Denver, chasing a fading dream. He cast a curious glance into the first stall they passed and saw moth-eaten blankets and a stack of trash consumed in a vigorous bloom of mold. He didn’t think much of it. As he passed the third stall, he saw a half-eaten horse decaying on a stack of piss-colored hay. Again he noticed a terrible blight consuming the compartment. Behind him, he heard Sam try to stop herself from vomiting.
“People have to eat,” he muttered, looking up to the second level balcony.
“What was that?” asked Hunter, turning back.
Abraham heard the shuffling of unsteady steps and then a distant door rattled. “Shit, they must smell us,” he said, crouching down.
Abraham doubled checked each direction. As his eyes adjusted, he saw fungus thriving in the dark damp environment. It was everywhere. Afraid, he made his way to a set of metal stairs to get a better view. Each step reverberated throughout the mill in an uncanny manner. The second level balcony was only a fourth of the mill, and he saw a third level thrice as small as the second. No walls separated the floors, only a crusty grate and broken set of rails.
Then, he heard a tin scatter across the first level floor in the obscurity. “Hurry,” he mouthed, gliding up and praying for a miracle. A metallic tang of fear nested on the tip of his tongue. Desperate, he blinked away the horrible thoughts and refused to give up and give in. He found the second floor covered in a web of vines and draped in a colony of alien growth. It appeared months old, healthy and bright in wet colors. Parts of it looked alien, tattered, and tooth marked; a fragment of it pulsated with each icy breath.
Abraham knew if any of them screamed, they would die. He could only hope the teenagers could swallow their fear and accept the horror. Behind him, Hunter tensed. A quiet rustle followed the silence. Then the snapping of a twig alerted them of the presence of infected. They followed us in.
Abraham shifted for a better view. All he could see was Sam squeezing Hunter’s forearm. He crouched down, and through the gap in the grate flooring, he saw something bloated and infected. His pulse quickened with each fearful breath. Abraham was moving again, this time across the second floor toward a warped ladder leading up to the third-level balcony.
“Go first,” he said, trying to forget what he thought he saw.
A clouded cone formed around his labored breath. The temperature had dropped in the late hour. He waited for both of them to climb to the top of the small balcony and then followed. The makeshift balcony was the highest point in the crumbling structure. A single dirty window was etched into the far side. He wiped a small spot clean and then leaned over the filthy window edge. What he saw almost brought him to his knees. Outside, under the now-familiar red glow of night, the entire west side of the mill was flooded with undead abominations. A sharp pain set fire to his weak heart. He took a seat on the floor and cupped his jaw.
“How is this possible?” Never in his life had he seen this many in one place. His old eyes fluttered in distress. Abraham’s underclothing was saturated in sweat and zest, causing him to pull at his clothing. The breeze from the cracked tower brought the powerful smell to his nose.
“What are we going to do?” Hunter pinched back the bolt on the rifle and then smashed it forward after checking the loaded chamber. “You led us here to die. They’ll reach the farm and kill everyone.”
Sam placed an icy palm on Hunter’s tense shoulder and smiled. “We still have a chance,” she said, pointing at the drainage ditch. “I think it’s a straight shot out into deep woods.”
Abraham thought about correcting Hunter’s attitude, but he didn’t have the strength. “It might work if we work together.” He brought a quaking hand to his constricted chest. Another rattle echoed across the blackness below. “Shit!” His white hair was slicked back in grime and his puffy eyes bulged at each sharp pain stabbing his heart. Not another heart attack.
“Are you alright?” Hunter asked.
Abraham knew the painful prompts were written all over his face. He knew if he died, everybody died. And still that wasn’t the reason for his mounting sorrow.
“Take it easy,” Hunter said, helping Abraham to the ground.
“I’ll live,” Abraham panted. “I need one of you to set a distraction on the south end of the mill.” Beads of sweat glistened on the slope of his nose. “Did you hear me?”
Hunter looked at him with fear and compassion. “Fire—it will buy us time to get out and cover our scent.”
Sam hesitated. “It will call every one of them in the area. Do you really want that?”
Silence and stealth were the rules now, and Abraham was aware that violating those rules meant a swift death. “There’s no other way. Fire will draw them to the mill and clear us a path.” He knew from experience that the infected freaks never came out during the day. “Have you ever seen one of the infected during the daytime?”
Sam shook her head.
“I have a theory. I think these things don’t like the sun. It appears that the darkness of this place keeps them safe from the burn of daylight. Places like this must serve as nests or hives.”
“And you just reunited the super horde with this small nest. Great job, Gramps,” Hunter said. “The farm is going to fall.”
“I always wondered where they went during the day,” Sam said, rubbing her arms furiously.
For the longest time, Abraham thought they might be nocturnal creatures, but now, he wondered if the sun burned them or cooked the fungus somehow. What type of monsters were these things that nested in the damp darkness of an old mill? His mind was running through various theories.
“How far is the farm?” Sam chewed at her fingernails.
“I’d guess a few miles,” Hunter answered.
“Can we make it?” she questioned, crossing her eyebrows.
Abraham growled as if life slapped him clean across his face. It was the sharp burn in his hear
t. “We have too. But with all of these infected, we won’t last for long.”
“A huge fire will draw every infected to the mill.” Hunter’s voice was quick, but quiet. He looked once more at his struggling grandfather. “Do you really think this is a nest?”
“I think they seek shelter underground and perhaps in places like this.” Abraham didn’t want to scare them with all of his crazy notions.
“So if we destroy the hives, will this infestation stop?” Sam rubbed her forearms.
“It’s an idea.” Abraham spat, feeling lightheaded. “But dark places dot the surface of the Rocky Mountains. So destroying them all will be impossible.”
“Are you going to be safe up here?” Hunter glanced around while asking as if he were checking the walls for climbers.
“I’ll be safe enough. It’s you two who are heading back down. But I think they are drawn out into the crimson night—it feeds them, or comforts them… Shit, I don’t know, but they seem to need it. So the bottom level should be mostly empty until dawn. Except the ones that followed us.”
“But…” started Hunter.
“Go now, and be quick about it,” Abraham interrupted, giving his concept more thought. He slid down flat on his back and stared up at the rotten wood of the water wheel outside of the window. “Wait! The water wheel—can we climb down it?”
Sam was closest and moved her head up and down. “I think it’s possible.”
“Good, now use that shit in your survival pack to set that fire and get your butts back up here.” There was a time when Abraham had believed old things held beauty. Yet in this agonizing moment, he wished everything would be torn down and made anew. In a haze, he listened to the teens make their way back down the creaking ladder. It killed him sending his grandson toward danger, but his damaged heart didn’t give him any other options. I believe in you, Abraham thought, scooting closer to the tower ledge.
III
Hunter Heinz scanned the endless shadows of the abandoned mill. A narrow gangway caked in purple mushrooms connected to an adjoining building on the second level. Could it be a way out? It threatened to bloom in the same alien fungus. To Hunter the puffs lining the gangway looked like wet peaches that breathed. He didn’t think it was any safer in that direction. The timber construct of the mill was moist and thriving in damp mold. He needed something dry to start a fire. A string of bruised mushrooms grew out of the grated floor and appeared to glow red in the dark. Every time Hunter left the farm, his grandpa was quick to remind him to take his survival bag. This time he was glad he listened. He pulled out his lighter and rolled the top, striking a flame. The wet mushrooms quivered and the boy could have sworn they hissed. Had Hunter know the hissing came from below, he would have never produced such a light in this dark place.
Then and there an ear-bleeding buzz erupted. Hunter dropped the lighter and clamped his hands over his ears and cowered, unable to think or move. Sam was next to him, trembling. Her dark eyes swept about the gloom as if whatever made the noise was near. After a few fast breaths, the energetic sound stopped as did the small quake it produced.
Oh, my God, Hunter thought, peering over the broken ledge. He positioned his rifle as if it were an assault rifle, scanning the first floor below. Whatever had made that squeal must have been gigantic.
“It came from below,” he suggested to Sam.
Sam stayed tight to his back, giving Hunter butterflies. He bent over and snatched up the lighter as his boots clapped against the damp surface with each step. Hunter wanted to show his grandfather he could pull his own weight. He felt bad for all of the rude comments he made, but then again, he was only a teenager living in this nasty world.
“The mushrooms are a part of the infection, don’t you think?” he heard Sam ask.
“I don’t know,” he whispered back to her. One of the nearby pillars on the second level balcony was tangled in a devilish vine that produced a nasty-looking flower with teeth. The thing seemed to glow in the dark. Hunter wanted to test the theory despite his gut feeling. His lighter struck a flame and graced the center of the flower. The bud recoiled and shut its mouth. It hissed as if it were in pain. Hunter’s scrunched face told of a deep fear. He killed the glimmer of light fast and waited for the screeching to subside. Broken steps staggered below and dared him to strike a light again. The infected were searching for a way up.
As Hunter’s courage built back up, a quaking buzz stole his breath. It was louder than before, and high in the vaulted ceiling, a small amount of dirt rained down upon his head. All he could think about was taking a shower. The short distance to the stairs leading back to the first floor left his skin prickled in bumps. Below, he heard the shuffle of evil steps echoing across the shrill landscape in haste. Carefully, he took aim.
“A gang of them down there,” he mouthed back to Sam. His eagle eyes could make out a dozen shapes. By the way the things moved, he could tell they saw the flicker of light earlier.
Sam remained silent and pointed. One of the infected freaks looked like something he had never seen. Most of the infected corpses were regular human carcasses rotted in ambiguous fungus. Yet, this one was different; its flowered head had switched places with its right shoulder. Its leather flesh was bloated ten times its normal size and its hands were replaced with some sort of moldy cord of vines. He forced a second glance at the twelve foot monster stalking the open levels of the first floor. The colossal diseased corpse was too big to fit under the balcony, and now paced in front of a fortress of hay.
It was more than enough to burn the mill to the ground.
“Don’t you dare think about it,” Sam said. “We can start the fire from up here.”
“This mold is damp. Hopefully some of that hay is dry.” He stood alert, his rifle sight following his cunning eyes. “Besides, I think you’re right. The fungus is alive, and it feels the fire.” Excruciating pressure flourished in his swirling thoughts with a rush of throbbing adrenaline.
“I’ve never killed one before,” she admitted. She grabbed a fistful of his jean jacket and stared into his hazel eyes. “I need you to keep me safe.” Her trembling hands fumbled forward against his strong heartbeat.
“Don’t worry. You stay up here where it’s safe. I need to go down there and start the fire,” he said. “Remember, they’re not like us.” He held out an empty brown bottle and turned his gaze downward toward the beast with contorted limbs and deep-rooted toadstools. “If they back me into a corner, use this to draw them away. We only get one chance.”
She took the old beer bottle from him.
Hunter was fueled by the will to impress his grandfather. He had lasted this long. Of course Abraham had kept him alive for the most part. Nevertheless, now he had a chance to shine. He bit his lower lip, on the edge of courage in his awareness.
“Be safe.” She kissed him on the cheek and hurried back toward the center rail of the balcony for a better view.
God, help us, Hunter thought, plugging his nose. He glided down the stairs as soft as a cat. His vision had adjusted to the dark as he stepped to the first floor. His heart pounded loud in his ears. A gang of the infected stumbled around the mill arranged more like an abandoned maze. He slipped to the right, then stood tall against one of the seedy support beams. He couldn’t see them all, but the big one sounded like a rabid dog. Congested buzzing through its branched nose and nasty groans left it sucking in air and spreading foul spores. Rows of warped wood herded the infected in various directions. For several seconds, with muscles tight, sweat steaming off his skin, Hunter climbed through and over a series of wooden fences. The lumber dripped with a slimy yellow fungus the boy was careful to avoid.
Looking up, he saw Sam watching him from the balcony. This gave him courage as he weaved through the obstacles, avoiding the infected at every turn. Hunter felt smart and adept. Then, he heard something drop from the balcony. It smashed hard into the ground level, alerting the monsters in the mill. At least it was on the other end.
&nb
sp; The infected staggered about, almost smelling their air with their blooming, clustered faces of living mold. Hunter crouched into a small void under a warped cubby and waited. The withered feet of one of the creatures stomped in front of the space. There was nowhere to run. If he fired the rifle, the creature would die, but its friends would be on him faster than flies on dung.
A second pair of rotten feet still wearing a pair of blood-soaked basketball shoes joined the first. The buzzing sound sliced through his brain like a piercing wail of evil. His sweaty hands tightened around the rifle as the cracking joints of their knees bent down. It was too late. They must have sensed him.
Out of the blue, a second crash burst in the other direction. The two infected stood erect and darted toward the sound clinking and buzzing in waves. He tore out from under his hiding spot, ready to finish the mission. Yet, before he was out, he felt the presence of another infected. He fell back and avoided the creature marching toward the sound, its budding face spilling offensive spores in haste. A nasty wound on its left thigh was knotted in rotten lumps of cool puss and bright-colored flesh. Had the boy been hydrated, he might have pissed his pants. Nonetheless, after his nerves settled, he stepped out, this time more concerned with his surroundings.
Ten yards ahead sat the dead, grass-colored fortress of hay. Already moving, he darted through the bend and slid under a broken piece of metal serving as a divider. He froze near a water trot and realized the big, nasty one stood guard near the bundles of hay. His eyes drifted up and searched for Sam, but there was no sign of the southern girl. He needed her to lure the beast away. She already used the bottle. At that moment, the big, nasty infected creature, clear as day, erupted in a buzzing sound that brought down a section of the second floor balcony.
Sam! He listened for any moans from the girl. The cry of the freak was followed by the immense creature stomping forward in a manic rage. The shock had almost immobilized Hunter. Once it passed, he crawled forward and climbed up the bundles of hay. He reached into his pocket and prayed his hands would be steady enough to light the fire. He had no idea how he was going to get back to the stairs.
The heavy-rooted feet of the massive creature stumbled around, and its foul, infected face parted like the red sea as a cord of vines danced back and forth. The powerful new sound stole Hunter’s breath. He was sure the monster could smell him. I’m fucked.
Trapped between the hay and an infected freak towering over twelve feet, Hunter had no hope. He wedged his frame between rolls of hay and the back wall, hoping to remain undiscovered. Hunter imagined the monster’s hot breath as its slow, approaching steps shook the ground. The thing reeked of decomposing excrement. Hunter squeezed his rifle and prayed. It was all he could do.