There was no one at the driver’s seat, but we could see that the rear hatch was open, so we circled around to the back. Blood was dripping from the tailgate and pooling under the vehicle, so I held a hand up; I didn’t want Casey to have to see this.

The man lying in the back of the humvee was clearly dying. His skin was pale from blood loss, and he had large wounds on his abdomen and left shoulder. The only sign of life was his chest slowly rising and falling. I thought I heard a sound escape his lips, so I pressed closer, “What’d you say, man? Are you alright?”

“Ge-…get away. D-d-d-don’t come any closer!” he said with surprising urgency.

I held up my palms reassuringly, “It’s okay, I’m not one of…one of them,” I said as I took another step forward. The look in his eyes changed then, and he sat upright abruptly. I reached out to help him up, when his right hand closed on my wrist with the strength of steel.

“Tried to…warn you…” he said through clenched teeth, a look of determination in his eyes. “Can barely…control-”

He was cut off by a shriek as Casey came round the back of the hummer. “Dennis! Ohmygod, are you alright?”

The man’s left arm twitched uselessly at his side as I struggled in his grip; I couldn’t tell if that was his natural strength or some power derived from the infection, but either way, I couldn’t get my hand free. I met his eyes for a second, and he glanced pointedly to his hip. I followed his gaze down to the pistol at his waist, then recoiled in horror at his implication.

“Do it…Dennis, right? I’m al….already wasted…Don’t let me…become one of…” his voice trailed off in a grunt of pain.

I reached down with my free hand and awkwardly pulled the gun from its holster. Thumbing off the safety, I placed the gun over his heart. “I’m sorry,” I said, eyes finding his name on his fatigues, “Sergeant Wood,” and squeezed the trigger.

“Wow, another roadblock…do you think they’re quarantining parts of the town?”

“It sure looks that way, Den.” Eric replied, and got the truck moving again.

“Umm…after we talk to your buddy, uh…Kyle? Connor, that’s it…after we talk to him, maybe we should skip town for a few days, get a room somewhere and let this whole thing blow over…” Casey suggested nervously.

Karen grinned, “Girl, I barely know you but we already think alike. I say we get Connor and Doc J and take a road trip to anywhere but here.”

“Yea, you’re right,” I turned in my seat to talk to the girls, “This place isn’t safe anymore; and it’s only a matter of time before they’re doing construction on the West Bridge.”

“Oh yea, I didn’t even think of that! If they close the-Whoa!” Casey was cut off by the squeal of tires as the SUV came to a sudden halt. I turned to face forward and see what was wrong; my mouth hung open in shock. Before us was another roadblock, this one complete with a military humvee; there was blood all over the ground, and not a person in sight.

“What the…what happened here?” Karen asked, “Where are the soldiers, or construction workers?”

“I don’t know…but there’s a lot of blood…maybe they got attacked by some of the infected…” I suggested.

“But if they got attacked, they would’ve fought them off right? I mean, there were soldiers, with guns, assault rifles man! If there aren’t any soldiers here, then…” Eric let the thought trail off.

“Let’s not think about that and focus on getting to Rachel’s. We should probably go around, rather than drive straight through here. Do you know a back way?” I asked Casey.

Her voice broke up as she spoke, nearly sobbing, “No…this is it, we’ve gotta go through here…this is Rachel’s development, the only way in…her development…which was under quarantine…was, until…”

Karen leaned over and put an arm around the crying girl, “It’ll be alright Case, Rachel’s probably fine.”

“You…you think so?” Karen nodded and managed a weak smile, but there had been fear in her voice.

Eric moved to put the truck in drive, when I stopped him. “Bro, we can’t just leave.”

“Why not? We should hurry to Rachel’s then meet up with Doc J.”

“I wanna check out that humvee; what if there’s somebody inside? Or, what if there’re guns?”

“You want a gun?! Are you crazy? Have you even fired a gun before?”

My cheeks colored, “Yea! Well…I had a BB gun…as a kid. Shot cans and stuff. Anyway, you saw that guy on the way to Casey’s, and now this. There are crazy people, infected people all over! I want a way to protect myself…to protect us all, in case we run into them again.”

Eric sighed; he knew how stubborn I could be sometimes. “Fine, but make it quick.”

As I opened the door, Karen spoke up, “Dennis…you shouldn’t go alone,” she looked pointedly at Eric; he caught her gaze and looked away.

“I’ll go,” Casey said, her voice strong as she wiped her eyes and stepped out of the SUV.

I climbed out as well, and leaned in before closing the door, “We’ll be right back, hopefully with a pistol or two. Keep it runnin’.”

“He looks pretty far from ok, Karen.” I said

“Are you ok?!” she called aloud; the man looked up at Karen’s call, and quickened his step. His bloody hands outstretched, he staggered toward us and uttered a low growl.

“Karen, get in the car,” Eric said, and rushed into the driver’s seat. This time, Karen complied and I jumped in the vehicle as well. Our tires spun as we raced away from the scene, in time to see a woman shamble out of the house behind the injured man. As we drove off, I was shaking with fear. The older couple, maybe they were infected or crazy, like the guy at the party. But that little girl…she was dead…and not because of Eric’s inattentive driving. But if she was dead…how did she try to bite my hand off?

Eric was still flying down the road when we reached Casey’s; he had to lock the brakes up to stop in time. He turned to me, “I’m keeping it running. Hell, I’m not even putting it in park. Get in there, get her and get back out here before more of those…things…show up.”

“Got it, I’ll be right out.” I left the truck and beat a quick jog to her front door. I hit the bell and immediately began banging on the door, all the time looking left and right like a paranoid psycho. I caught some movement from one of the window blinds, then the door swung open.

“Oh, it’s you. Hey, what took-“

“No time, let’s go,” I cut her off and grabbed her wrist, half leading half dragging her to Eric’s truck. I got in with the quickness; Eric was speeding away before Casey had even closed the door. Once we were in motion again, I uttered a small sigh of relief.

We filled Casey in on what had just happened as she directed us to Rachel’s. The four of us all came to the same conclusion: whatever had infected Chelsea’s dad at the party last night was spreading, and fast. We just had to hope that Connor and his military friends had a solution…

Taking this logic a step further, it’s hard to imagine creating characters that haven’t seen or heard of zombies. The concept is too much a part of modern culture to justify a reaction of confusion. “It died, then got back up? What…what should we call this strange phenomenon?” does not come off as believable. No one buys it, because we have a word for that, and that word is zombie (or Jesus, depending on your preference).

So I had to think of a way to introduce the horror element without the characters just falling back onto “Well I saw this in a movie” and still leaving some doubt there; that’s why I chose the party setting (D1 P3-4). A party already has some elements of insanity: people do things they don’t remember in the morning, everyone is likely drinking alcohol, etc. Then a fight breaks out: a common party occurance, and everyone reacts in kind. Except something about “the other guy” seems a little off, and the fight goes bad.

But before anyone can really THINK or confirm what they think they just saw, the cops show up, and the characters do what’s natural. It’s only some time later that they can really discuss what went on, and all they have are their memories: clouded by darkness and alcohol, they’re just left with a feeling that something bad went down. Only after additional encounters with the zombie can they be certain that they have an idea of what’s going on.

I typed out a text to Casey and told her we were on our way to her place. She replied her thanks within seconds. As we were driving, the streets were empty, even for a Sunday. We didn’t see another soul on the back roads, and on Broadway going to Casey’s, the only other vehicles we saw were a fire truck and an ambulance heading in the opposite direction.

When we rounded the corner onto Casey’s street, Karen yelled from the back seat: “Look out!”

Eric slammed on the brakes but it was too late; the girl rolled over the roof of the truck and we heard her land with a thud. We stopped and sat, frozen for a second, then left the car in a rush and ran over to the girl. She looked to be around 7 or 8, in a pale white dress, laying there with her left arm twisted. She wasn’t moving; we had all stopped a few feet away from her.

I glanced at Karen and Eric; neither moved to help her so I knelt beside her. I placed a hand on her shoulder-intending to roll her onto her back-then jumped back in surprise. She was cold as ice. “What the hell…” I mumbled to myself.

“What…what is it? Is she…?” Eric let the question trail off.

I placed my hand on her neck, and didn’t feel a pulse. Just as I moved my hand away, the little girl snapped at it. I fell back onto my ass and quickly got to my feet, and that’s when I heard it for the first time. They make this…sound…it’s kind of a cross between a hiss and a growl; it sent shivers right up my spine. We didn’t have a word for it then, but we later came to call it the Death Rattle, or just the Rattle.

When Karen and Eric saw the little girl move, they immediately rushed forward but I held them back. “Let go Den, she’s hurt and needs help.”

“Eric, man, you’re not gonna believe me but…that girl’s got no pulse. And she was cold, man…dead cold.”

We watched for a minute as she writhed there in the road; the SUV had broken her back so she couldn’t stand up or even crawl.

“Whatever was wrong with that guy at the party last night…this kid’s got it too. Now if you wanna call 911, fine, but whatever’s wrong with her, she tried to bite my hand so I say she can lay here and rot!”

“Dennis!” Karen exclaimed, “That’s heartless! She’s a sick little girl, we should try to help her.”

Her words made sense, but my gut said otherwise. Honestly, I was scared to death of that…thing; I wanted nothing more than to get as far from it as possible. “Fine, you deal with her, I’m gonna wait in the-“ My words died on my tongue, “Uhh…guys…we should go. Like, now.”

“No, I’m calling 911,” Karen said dismissively as she pulled out her cell.

“I mean it, we have got to get out of here,” I walked over to Karen and turned her by the shoulders so she could see what I saw. From the house on the corner, a man was walking towards us. He was wearing a bathrobe and staggered with each step; his hands were covered in blood, and he was missing most of the left side of his face.

I awoke the next morning to the smell of bacon cooking; I staggered out to the kitchen confused, since Eric never cooked breakfast. Then I remembered: Karen had been so freaked out that she hadn’t wanted to go home. I chuckled to myself at the irony of what it took to get her to finally put out…

“Morning, Den” she said, in that obnoxious tone people reserve for those of us who are not ‘morning persons’, “How do you like your eggs?”

I muttered, “Scrambled, thanks,” and walked towards the bathroom to wash the sleep from my eyes.

“Ok, it’ll be a few minutes,” she called to my retreating form.

As we were eating breakfast, I heard my phone go off; I left the kitchen and scanned my room, before finding my cell in last night’s jeans. I flipped it open and saw two messages; the first had come from Doc J, confirming that we were still meeting at 8am. I checked the clock, which read 7:15; plenty of time to finish eating before we were to reconvene.

I walked back to the kitchen and scrolled to the second message. This one was from Casey, “omg rach isnt answerin!! -.-;; im worried bout her can u pick me up an take me over there? she wuz my ride 2 tha diner neway…” The look on my face got Eric’s attention, and I handed him the phone when I was done reading it.

“Oh god, do you think…you think something happened?” he asked and showed Karen the message.

I was freaking out as bad as he was, “Maybe…I don’t know…I just met the girl last night…”

“Yea, me too, but Casey’s her friend, right? And she’s really worried about her.”

“Look, we were at a party. She probably had too much to drink and now she’s just hung-over and ignoring her phone. It’s probably nothing,” Karen said, but her voice had a nervous edge to it.

“Yea…you could be right K…” Eric caved quickly, but I was still worried.

“But what if you’re wrong? Either way, we have to go get Casey now since she doesn’t have a car. While we’re out we might as well check on Rachel. If she’s puking her guts out, no harm no foul. But if something’s really wrong, we gotta know.” Eric sighed, knowing I could be stubborn at times, and we all rushed to get ready to leave.

As we walked out of the apartment complex and into the parking garage, I immediately sensed something was wrong. Our conversation fell to whispers, then died; Eric and Karen could feel it too. I glanced around, but nothing looked amiss.

“You hear that?” I asked

“Hear what?” Eric replied.

“No, Den, I don’t hear anything,” Karen looked at me, puzzled.

“Exactly.” There were no birds singing or crickets chirping; not even the engine of a passing car broke the eerie silence.

Casey whispered to Rachel, “Who’s Chelsea?” Rachel just shrugged.
“Eric I’m not making this up; get out your phone, go online and I’ll show you. The pic is on her Connected pro-” The words died in my mouth; the picture was gone, along with the rest of her profile.

“What, you want me to look it up? Fine, I’ll do it, just to prove you’re out of your mind.” he pulled his smartphone from his pocket and flipped out the keypad, “What’s her screen name?”

I sighed, “Forget it.”

“Why?” Connor chimed in, “Don’t want us to know you’re full of it?”

“No…it’s not there. The picture, her profile, everything, it’s all deleted.”

“This is getting stranger by the second,” said Doc J; “What would Chelsea Swanson’s father be doing at John’s, and hyped up on PCP no less?”

“I think something’s wrong with him…he’s not on drugs, I think he went crazy or something.” I went on to tell them about the blog entry, and my inability to get in touch with Chelsea.

“This Swanson girl, where does she live?” asked Connor, suddenly interested. When I gave him the street name, his eyes widened. “I got an AUR message earlier; All Units Respond, telling us to report to that exact address. When the man calls, we all have to jump; there’s only one excuse for not reporting to an AUR: intoxication,” he said the last with a grin. “I figured it was…well, I’m not sure exactly what I thought was going on, it just wasn’t worth my Saturday night.”

“I knew it!” Karen exclaimed, “Those guys weren’t construction workers, they were military!”

“So what are you saying,” asked James, “that Connor’s Army colleagues knew Mr. Swanson was…sick, or demented?”

I was starting to see the bigger picture in my head, “Yea, exactly. They knew something was wrong, that’s why they were at Chelsea’s house. That’s what happened to her Connected profile: she was under surveillance and tripped a flag, so her account was deleted.”

“Why go through all the trouble, just for a crazy old guy?” Casey asked.

Doc J mused, “It seems like he was more than just crazy. The actions of the military seem in line with attempts to contain some kind of outbreak: quarantining the residence, controlling information to prevent panic, and so forth.”

Rachel shook her head, “No way…what kind of disease makes you eat other people?”

“We need more information. Connor, could you call any of your Army friends and try and find out what’s going on?”

“Sorry J, doesn’t work that way. If this is as big and bad as it sounds, they’d be monitoring our cell phones. No one on assignment would mention anything serious, or it’d be his ass. There’s only one way we’ll really know what happened to Daddy Swanson.”

I knew where he was going with this, “Wait, you can’t really intend to-”
He cut me off with a nod, “I’ll have to respond to the AUR. I’ll make up an excuse, say I was sleeping or something. Knowing my unit, we’ll be short staffed anyway and they’ll be too thankful to have an extra man to complain about me showing up late.”

“But if they’re watching your phones, how’s this gonna help?” asked Casey. “If your friends can’t tell you, how can you tell us?”

“Hmm, good point.” Connor pondered it for a moment, “The longest they can keep us working a shift is 10 hours. Which means I’ll be relieved by at least,” he checked his watch, “8 am. So I’ll meet up with you guys then, and fill everyone in.”

“Ok, cool, that works great,” I said.

“What if the worst should happen,” asked James, a serious tone in his voice, “and you are unable to leave?”

“That’s not gonna happen, it’s probably nothing anyway,” said Connor dismissively.

“Anything is possible. If we don’t hear from you by 8, are we to just assume the worst?”

“Doc J’s right, man, what do we do?” asked Eric.

“Alright, alright…if by some act of god they keep me on for another shift or something, I’ll send out a text. Now, they’ll be watching so it’ll have to be vague, but, well, I’ll think of some way to get a point across.”

We all agreed to the plan, and Connor left to report for duty. The rest of us knew that there wasn’t much we could do until we knew what was going on. Doc J and I swapped numbers with Rach and Casey, and we all decided to meet up again at the diner in the morning.

“Wow, Dennis, I didn’t know you were into hard drugs,” said Connor.

I was puzzled, “Uh, what?”

“Did you forget to mention the part where you guys all dropped acid and made this up?”

Doc J busted up laughing; Eric interjected, “We’re not stoned! And we’re not making this up.”

“Alright, not to harp on the drug thing, but maybe Connor’s right,” said James, after he stopped laughing. “I’ve read police reports of men on phencyclidine who act totally insane.”

“Phensy-what?” asked Rachel.

“Phencyclidine, PCP, angel dust. Am I ringing any bells here?” Rachel nodded, so Doc J continued, “There’s even a rather famous case, where a man on PCP murdered his wife and ate parts of her body. I mean, it’s not like everyone who takes it exhibits the same symptoms, but, it is a plausible explanation.”

The girls all nodded and spoke their agreement, but I looked to Eric and gave a small shake of my head, he nodded. It felt wrong, and something about the guy that attacked Richie was bothering me; Eric didn’t buy it either. “Correct me if I’m wrong Doc,” he began, “But dust is no cocaine. I mean, it’s a hardcore street drug, right?”

James nodded, “Phencyclidine has been most commonly abused by members of lower class, correct.”

“Well, the, uh, the guy, he was in nice slacks and a button down. He wasn’t some ghetto punk, or some poser kid; hell, he wasn’t even young.”

“He’s right,” said Casey, “that dude was in his late forties, at least.”

That’s when it hit me. The man who attacked Richie…I had seen him before. It was only once, in a pic I saw on the net, he was standing in the background. The more I thought about it, the more certain I became.

“That guy is Chelsea’s father!”