438

Woody and Jaime both turn their heads to you in unison.

"Staying at your place is a sure-fire way to get us all killed," Jaime says. "I'm fine with maybe staying another day or two at the most—"

Woody cuts his cousin off. "A day or two? By mornin' you'll be seein' my back, 'cause I'm walkin' out of that house and headin' for the mountains. Now, I 'ppreciate the hospitality and all, but stayin' in the country so close to others is a death sentence."

As you draw closer to your neighborhood, you spot a trail of thick, black smoke rising in the air from a group of homes near where you live. Jaime hits the gas harder and speeds across the avenue.

Nearing your neighborhood you move in the dark of night, as roadside lights are out and few houses have porch lights turned on. All is eerily silent, except for the errant rumble of a military vehicle or a passing plane. Even the birds and crickets are hiding. As you drive the long road, you spot more infected than before: wandering the fields of soy and corn, staggering on dirt paths, crawling on the asphalt of a parking lot. If you drive close, they chase your van, only to give up when other movement or loud sounds call their attention. All stores are closed, and even the farmer's market is an empty lot. This doesn't feel like Stodgy Farms but the leftover shell of a town left in the aftermath of war. This doesn't feel like home.

As you reach an intersection, you spot movement on the steps of St. Gabriel's Methodist Church. An older man in reverend's garb holds a pitchfork up as you stop. He waves you to keep going, and there's an aggression to his expression and stance. Before you can say a word or make a move, he rushes inside the tall doors of the church and slams them shut.

With that strange occurrence over, you continue your way home.