Chapter One

The Farm

It’s not that I hate the night. After all, the dark can be so peaceful and quiet—almost serene. At least, it could be. No, it’s what the night does. How the growing dark creeps across the Mesa until it finally covers our farm in ever deepening shadows—shadows that drain our world of color and plunge it into ever-darkening shades of gray. Shadows that envelope you, surround you, and strip you of both life and love; shadows that you must confront alone.

With the shadow’s dark comes the quiet, and it’s the quiet that’s the worst. As the shadows cover the world, the sounds diminish until silence prevails. In the dark and silence, the terror begins, because you know…you just know that the quiet will end in…in…

Sam sat at the parlor table while mentally struggling for the right word to complete her thought, but none immediately came to mind. Every day, she wrote in her journal, though calling it a journal was truly a stretch. Not a book or even a diary, it was just a collection of unbound paper she found years ago. Amongst these loose scraps of paper, she collected and recorded her daily thoughts and observations. Unfortunately, some days her thoughts didn’t easily flow into words on a page. Unable to find the right word, Sam gathered her journal’s paper and neatly placed it on the shelf next to the fireplace.

At fifteen, Sam—short for Samantha—was hardly a woman. She was more of a grown child but aged years beyond her fifteen birthdays. She was tall, only an inch or so shy of six feet, and strong from years of hard work. With her dark brown hair cropped short, and wearing men’s style canvas pants and a shirt, Sam appeared more like a boy than a girl on the verge of womanhood. Only her ‘girl curves’—which over the last year had progressively jutted out under the drab, brown shirt—were any indication of her gender. Punctuating her far-from-feminine appearance were mannerisms not ladylike at all—a reflection of being raised with the relentlessly hard work of farm life.

Late afternoon was ‘school time’ at their farmhouse. While Sam struggled with her journal, her twin brothers and younger sister were all sprawled on the parlor’s dirt floor, taking turns reading from the family’s limited supply of books. The twins, Billy and Cal, were both twelve and just like their older sister, precocious beyond their years. As their mother would often say, “Twelve going on twenty, them two.” Both boys had blonde hair the color of the farm’s winter wheat, but you could hardly see their hair for all the dirt and grime from the day’s chores.

Sitting next to the boys was their younger sister Katey, who struggled to see the words on the page as her brothers took turns reading aloud. Not surprisingly, nine-year-old Katey was less interested in reading from the book than returning to play with the scrap fabric rag doll her mother made for her three seasons ago. From the start, both parents were committed to their children having some basic education, primarily reading and writing; however, with their father deceased and their mother desperately sick, the children still gathered in the parlor each afternoon to study—only now under the watchful eye of their older sister.

Sam listened to the half-hearted reading of her siblings, noting their less than adequate efforts, but just couldn’t bring herself to intercede—her heart just wasn’t in it today. As she watched their efforts, a whining and pawing at her leg demanded attention—her dog, Bailey. Completely blind in both eyes, Sam’s cherished dachshund scratched at her right foot, expecting to be picked up.

While a blind dog was more of a burden than a benefit in the harsh world of farm life, Sam and Bailey had formed a bond so deep that her mother and father finally relented to let her keep the dog. True to that deep relationship, Bailey would often trot along at Sam’s side as she worked in the field.

Another scratch at her foot, and Sam gave in. “All right, girl. You can come up, but just for a moment.”

The dog immediately snuggled down on her master’s lap, sighing with contentment as she did so. While the dog found comfort, so did Sam. The dog’s presence brought both a smile and a short-lived moment of peace.

Unfortunately, work on a farm is never more than a few moments away as Sam noted the lengthening shadows signaling night’s approach. “All right. That’s it for today. Billy! Cal! Dark’s a-comin’. Time to git on with yur night chores. You too, Katey.”

Every evening, they all had tasks assigned that they had to complete before night fell. With minor grumbling—mostly about how hard they had already worked during the day—all three children got to their feet and trudged outside the farmhouse into the rapidly dwindling light.

Their farmhouse was nothing special It was a rough and unattractive structure with a flat, timber roof. The house’s mud stucco had the consistency of hardened cement, making it durable and sturdy. Though built strong, the house was not large—just enough inner space for a parlor and three bedrooms.

Despite a name that conveyed elegance, the parlor was anything but stylish—more of a functional combination of both a kitchen and a sitting room. One wall of the parlor was dominated by a stone fireplace, providing the means for cooking meals as well as heating the farmhouse.

Nearby, a wooden table with four chairs provided a space for family dining. As there usually were more people than chairs, a wooden tree stump cut chair-high functioned as an extra seat. Alongside the table, a wooden sideboard cabinet functioned as a pantry for their meager foodstuffs.

Next to the hearth, a lone rocking chair provided the room’s sole seat of comfort. Also notable was a threadbare woven rug. A favored possession of their mother’s, it covered the parlor floor and provided the room’s only color.

Clearly out of place, a rough-hewn, wooden ladder leaned against the parlor’s far wall, but this ladder didn’t lead to a second story room, loft, or hidden bedroom. Instead, the ladder dead-ended at the ceiling with the rungs stopping just inches below the timbers and thatch. On closer examination, the ladder led to a small hatch recessed into the ceiling, which allowed access onto the roof. Overall, with these scant furnishings, the parlor was more functional than comfortable.

Down a short hallway from the parlor were three bedrooms. Each bedroom was no more than ten square feet with a compacted dirt floor—just like the main room. While their mother wanted a wooden plank floor installed, after all these years, it was never done.

”Never was time to do it,” their father often said.

Each room also had one small window that let daylight inside when the window’s heavy, wooden storm shutters weren’t closed. The house’s remaining furnishings were as austere as the structure with shelves, benches, and the bed frames all rough-hewn from wood scraps.

The only other structure of the farm was the adjoining barn and chicken coop, which stood next to the house. Larger and taller than the house, the barn was also built with mud stucco and provided a nighttime refuge for the farm’s few animals: two horses, a cow and her calf, and a goat. They were critical animals that provided needed food for the family or necessary muscle for the farm’s field.

“Billy! Cal!” Sam shouted. “You quit lollygagging and git on with it!” As they walked outside the house, the boys started their usual roughhousing of bumping into each other harder and harder and cussing each other as they did. With an audible sigh at their sister’s reproach, the boys went to their chores, beginning with tending to the outdoor fire.

Just outside of the farm’s front door was the fire pit. It was more of an outdoor fireplace strategically placed to provide a ready source of fire. Stone and mortar wrapped around the pit, hiding the light of the flames from all directions other than the front door. Inside the pit, the boys built a small fire. Nearby, they positioned long, wooden branches wrapped on one end with dried moss, ready to function as torches when lit. When finished with preparing the fire, the boys tended to the family’s dogs.

Located at all four corners of the farmhouse’s yard were ramshackle pens for the family’s four large dogs. These structures had rough-hewn boards covering all sides, including the top, and constructed to keep the dogs in and to keep things out. The mixed breed mutts protested slightly while led from the freedom of the yard where they were happily sprawled, as only dogs will do—sleeping, dreaming. Realizing they were pen-bound, the dogs cowered, whimpered, and dragged their feet as each hoped for a reprieve.

“Ah, come on, boy. ‘Tain’t so bad.” Billy lovingly grabbed a brown and white shepherd mix, carried it to the pen, and secured it inside. Reaching in, he rubbed the dog behind the ear and offered it a bone he hid in his pocket.

“All right, Champ. You know the story. If you smell something, you give us a bark, and I’ll be out here lickety-split.” He gave the dog one more loving pat and then secured the pen’s door.

Between Billy and his brother, they finished securing the remaining three dogs in their separate pens. Their only challenge was the last dog—the most skittish of the bunch—who tried to run away. The boys gave chase and finally corralled it into a pen.

With the dogs secured, the boys did one last check of the chest-high piles of dry wood stacked about ten yards away from the dog pens. After restacking a couple of pieces that had fallen to the ground, the boys’ outside work was done; however, one more task awaited them back inside the farmhouse.

While the boys finished their outside chores, Sam and her sister gathered up the other animals and secured them for the night. Like the dogs, the farm animals protested slightly, but the girls ultimately secured them behind the barn’s heavy, wooden doors. Sam knew the animals weren’t pets; instead, they were critical to the family’s survival. Even after Katey finished shutting and latching the barn door, Sam took an extra moment to double-check, which caused her sister to wrinkle her nose with dismay.

With the animals secured, Sam returned to the farmhouse and closed the heavy window shutters. As the wooden shutters swung closed, Katey latched them from inside the house.

The kitchen and parlor shutters were unique with a cross cut into them. An old settler’s trick, the cross had no religious significance; instead, the cross-shaped hole allowed for unfettered shooting from inside the farm house.

On the inside of the shutter, there was an inner plank attached that could be rotated to block the light from inside showing out through these shooting holes. With a tug on the shutters from outside, Sam checked the farm’s windows, assuring each was solidly secured. After assuring that the house, barn, animals, and yard were ready, Sam glanced over her shoulder at the dwindling sunlight. She pulled the large front door shut and secured it with a plank that slid across the inside frame.

“Hey! Chores ain’t done ‘til they’re done. Billy! Cal! Get to it.” Sure enough, as Sam entered the farmhouse, she found the boys already rough-housing on the kitchen floor. Don’t they ever stop, she thought, but she would have none of it—not with sunset only minutes away.

“Aw, Sam. He started it.” Billy protested, but Sam cut him off with a look that would freeze water.

Billy muttered to himself but let go of his brother. With the tussle over, the two boys got to their feet to finish their last nighttime chore—loading and staging the farm’s few guns. Two Winchester repeater rifles, a single shot hunting rifle, a shotgun, and two 32-caliber Colt handguns were stored unceremoniously in a small cabinet near the kitchen pantry.

Guns near children? In many places, guns so readily handy to young children would be unthinkable but, out of necessity on their farm, all of the children were skilled in both the care and use of guns. Both boys made short work of loading each weapon and then placed the repeater rifles and the shotgun at the ready next to the front door. With the hunting rifle placed next to the ladder, the boys were finally done and already whining for dinner.

While the boys readied the guns, the two girls started dinner with Katey trying her best to show off her developing culinary skills. With great pride, she had a pot of farm stew boiling inside the kitchen’s fireplace. Potatoes, carrots, some greens, and with the remains of the rabbit the boys shot the day before, the stew was hardy and filling—just what they all needed after a long day’s toil in the fields.

With Katey and the boys busy, Sam went to check on her mother in the rear bedroom. As she entered, Sam heard the rasp of her mother’s breathing punctuated with thick, wet-sounding coughs every minute or so.

Damn, she sounds worse than this morning, Sam thought. At her bedside, Sam laid her hand softly on her mother’s forehead. Hotter than it was this morning…and she isn’t sweating. That’s bad.

“Billy, Cal! Fetch water quick and bring a rag.”

The boys heard the stress in their sister’s voice and wisely brought the water without comment or complaint.

While the boys and Katey ate their dinner, Sam spent the next two hours mopping her mother’s forehead, shoulders, and chest with the cool water from the farmhouse well. The fever finally abated, but throughout her time at the bedside, her mother never awoke.

Mama’s so beautiful, she thought. Tall and strong, too. Mama shouldn’t be like…this.

The ravages of illness almost completely obscured her mother’s beauty, leaving her gaunt and emaciated with her long, blonde hair matted and dirty. Their mother was always the family’s source of strength, but one could not see that inner vigor with her condition. She had grown progressively worse over the last two weeks. Now, she was unconscious, and that power and cohesiveness, that basic strength she provided the family, was sorely missed.

With her mother’s fever addressed for now, Sam finally returned to the kitchen and spooned up some of the remaining stew into her tin cup. She sat at the table, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Mama’s getting worse. Why, she ain’t hardly moved for days and is wetting herself like Katey did when she was a baby.

She pushed aside the half-eaten bowl of food and hung her head as sadness washed over her. Whadda I do? Whadda I do? I just don’t know. Damn, I miss Papa. He’d know what to do.

Tears welled in her eyes as emotion took control. Even though they were busy with play, the other children noticed their sister’s tears. Without any words spoken, they quickly surrounded Sam and enveloped her in a much-needed group hug.

“It’s okay, Sam,” Katey said. “It’s…it’s gonna be okay. I just know it.”

She wanted to ask back, How do you know? Sam knew better than to challenge the younger child’s beliefs, though. Just as quickly as it arrived, the moment was gone; the boys and Katey returned to their playtime at fireside.

* * * *

Darkness had fully consumed the farm but from outside the house, no light was visible. Nothing in the house’s exterior would betray its existence to any approaching eyes. By design, the house itself blended into the endless blackness of nighttime on the Mesa.

Safely secured inside the house, the children busied themselves next to the fireplace, which provided the only light in the parlor. While Katey played with her doll, Billy drew on a flat rock on the fireplace using a makeshift pencil made from a stick and the fire’s charcoal. Nearby, Cal whittled on a hunk of wood with his knife. Seated in the old rocking chair next to him, Sam stretched, put down the pages of her journal, and noted Cal’s work.

“So…what’cha makin’ this time?”

Cal had some artistic skill, at least with a knife.

“I’m carvin’ a fierce gun fighter, like me,” he exclaimed.

“Ha!” Billy roared loudly. “If you were any more skittish, you’d be wearin’ a dress.”

“Why, you…” Cal’s face turned bright red with anger. “I’ll give you a scar to remind you which one of us is tougher.”

Cal loved his knifes. His favorite one was now unsheathed from his side, its ten-inch blade glistening in the firelight. With eyes narrowed to slits and revenge on his mind, he advanced toward his brother. While neither of the boys was a coward, their egos wouldn’t let either back down from a confrontation; however, Sam ruled the house, and she would have none of it.

“I swear I’ll whup ya both if ya don’t settle down. Cal, put that knife away and go on back to your whittlin’. Billy, you sit down too, and mind your mouth.”

Cal grumbled and cussed under his breath but with Sam’s last words, he sat down and put the confrontation behind him.

At least for now, he thought. I’ll get that skunk, I will.

As if Sam read his mind, she again intervened. “You’ll put it behind you and settle down. Cal, you unnerstand?”

With a nod of his head, it was finally over, and Sam returned to her journal.

* * * *

Several hours into the night, while the kids played a game with rocks on the dirt floor, Sam continued her evening struggle with her writing. While thankfully it had been a quiet evening, bedtime was fast approaching.

In the room’s quiet, sadness suddenly struck her. I wish Mama was in here with us, she thought. I miss how some evenings, just before bedtime, she would sing to us…lifting our hearts even in the darkest moment. She always takes such good care of us, but now she surely isn’t able to.

With a shake of her head, not noticed by the other children, she forced the dark thoughts from her mind before sadness overwhelmed. Well…time for bed.

Sam had just told the children to put on their nightshirts when a long howl startled them all into an instant silence. She held her breath, hoping it was a coyote or some other animal, but after several seconds, the howl became repeated, frantic barking. It was their dogs.

No…no…not now. Sam’s mind instantly plunged into terror. Why now? After all these months. Damn, damn, damn!

For several long seconds, the barking continued as she sat paralyzed at the table. The children’s eyes all fixed on her. I’ve got to do something. They are counting on me. Think, think. Unfortunately, in her paralysis, both words and actions eluded her.

It was Billy’s single word, asked in a pleading tone, that finally forced action, “Sam?”

“Ah…a’right. You all know what to do. Billy, Cal—go quick and git them fires lit. Then, head on back here. You cover each other as you go. Katey…you’re at the door with the scatter gun, but you watch what you aim at.”

The two boys grabbed their rifles and were at the door. Before they left, Sam grabbed their shoulders in one last moment of human connection, “Boys, go quick and be safe. I’ll be watchin’ out for you from above.” With that, Katey removed the board securing the door, and the boys were instantly out, heading first to the fire pit.

With the boys out the door, Sam turned to her sister. “I’m goin’ up top. You see any of them critters comin’ close, you shoot. Understand?”

“Yes, Sam,” she answered meekly.

Without another word, Sam strapped a gun holster to her waist with its six-shooter loaded and at the ready. She grabbed the hunting rifle and a handful of bullets, before climbing the ladder to the top of the farmhouse and into the night air. Scrambling across the roof to the edge, she dropped down, resting her gun’s barrel on a pile of rocks carefully positioned to steady her aim. The rifle had a rudimentary scope, giving it a slight magnification—just right for long distance shooting.

“All right, you bastards. Let’s see where you are,” she said quietly to herself. Through the rifle’s scope, she scanned the distance, but with the moonlight obscured by clouds, she saw nothing; however, a dog’s bark to her right was a strong indication that something was there. Louder now, and at a more fevered pitch, the barking warbled over the farm’s yard—a continued reminder of danger. Although she intently scanned the outskirts of the yard, Sam still saw nothing.

* * * *

Having done it many times over the years, Billy and Cal knew the routine, but it never got any easier. Billy was out the front door first, his rifle still slung over his back. Cal followed close behind, his rifle drawn close to his cheek and his eye on the sight, scanning the yard for targets as he moved, but none were in sight. Their first task was retrieving the torch sticks they had so carefully prepared. Thrusting several deep into the burning fire pit, the torches were themselves a-flame and burning brightly within seconds. Holding a burning torch in each hand, Billy sprinted across the farmhouse yard toward the first bonfire and used both torches to light the kindling at several locations. The dried wood instantly caught fire with the flames providing a growing light that illuminated the almost pitch-black of the farm’s yard. With one fire lit, the boys now turned their attention to the second bonfire—the one nearer to the frantic barking now approaching a fevered pitch. In that pen was Billy’s cherished dog.

“That’s Champ. Them varmints are goin’ for Champ!” Throwing caution to the wind, Billy raced toward the other bonfire, quickly distancing himself from his brother.

“Dammit, Billy. Wait for me,” Cal pleaded as he ran after his brother. That fool’s gonna get us both killed.

With the light of the torches providing meager illumination, Billy headed straight for the dog pen. What he saw took his breath away—two critters were reaching into the pen and trying to grab the terrified dog. The closest one, covered in dirt and long-dried blood, was still dressed in ragged clothes. A faded and tattered blue shirt barely covered its abdomen. Where tears in the shirt exposed skin, it was as ravaged as the clothing—decayed flesh ripped open in wide, putrid swaths. Even worse, in each of the open wounds, maggots slowly feasted on the dead flesh while white flies circled overhead. Putrid smell and decay—the legacy of those dead reanimated to walk the earth endlessly.

The closest creature had finally gotten hold of the poor animal. As the dog struggled, the creature slowly pulled it toward its mouth full of broken and black-colored teeth.

“You put him down, you bastard!” Billy swung the torch like a club, hitting the dead man in its face. Uttering only a moan—its only communication—the zombie dropped the dog and backed two steps away. This retreat, however, was only temporary. With a gurgling moan, it staggered toward Billy. Nearby, the second creature, still wearing the remnants of a tattered suit, complete with cummerbund, turned and walked in slow, plodding steps toward Billy. Undeterred, Billy advanced on the dead men, wildly swinging the torch over his head in a blinding arc of flame that drove the creatures backward as he did.

While Billy held the two creatures at bay, Cal finally arrived at his brother’s side. His gun sprang to life, shooting the first creature through the forehead and spraying decayed brains out of the back. It slumped to the ground—the dead finally…dead. Cal cocked his repeater rifle, took aim, and readied for the next shot. Before he could pull the trigger, Billy sprinted directly toward the second creature, shoving the burning torch into its tattered clothes. As fire spread across its body, a loud moan emerged from its mouth. Twisting back and forth, it tried to elude the growing flames. While the dead man contorted, Billy leaped forward and kicked it squarely in the chest, shoving it toward the bonfire. Teetering at first, the thing finally fell backward, landed on the dried wood, and instantly set the bonfire ablaze. With the two zombies dead, Billy and Cal looked to each other, both smiling with relief. Unfortunately, in the growing light from the second bonfire, they finally realized their peril. There were not just two zombies. The light revealed many more staggering toward them—all hungry, all intent on flesh.

* * * *

From her rooftop perch, Sam watched as her brothers lit the first bonfire and moved toward the second. In the growing light, she recognized their peril.

Shit…damn. Damn!

Quickly bringing the gun’s scope to her eye, Sam chambered a round and took aim. Before she could fire, Cal beat her to it by shooting the first creature in the head. Even in the minimal light, through the gun’s scope, she saw the rotting flesh explode from the zombie and watched as it crumpled to the ground. She now took aim on the second zombie only to see Billy light it on fire and then foolishly kick it onto the stacked woodpile of the bonfire.

I swear that boy’s got piss for brains, she thought. He shouldna’ got that close.

With growing horror that tightened her stomach, she saw dozens of the dead surrounding her twin brothers.

“Billy, Cal…run. Run!”

Sam screamed as loud as she could. Even before she screamed the words, the boys were already backing away from the advancing creatures.

Cal chambered a round and fired. His shot hit a middle-aged dead man still wearing the tattered remains of clothing that might have once been the height of fashion. Unfortunately, the gunshot went low, striking the creature in the chest.

Their Papa told them over and over, “You have to shoot ‘em in the head. Shooting them anywhere else won’t do any good.” Just as their father’s advice had predicted, the creature staggered back several steps and instinctually glanced down at the gaping hole in its chest. The dead thing’s constant and unrelenting hunger prevailed and, once again, it lumbered toward Cal.

Before Cal could cock his gun again, a shot rang out from Sam’s rifle back on the farmhouse roof. The gun’s crosshairs were perfectly aligned on the dead man. With the shot, brains exploded from the opposite side of the thing’s skull, and it collapsed onto the ground. With that one creature down, Cal continued to back away, trying to retreat to the house.

Nearby, Billy unslung the rifle from his shoulder as he followed his brother back toward the house. Before he could get very far, two creatures—both large men over six feet tall—quickly cut off his retreat. Even from a distance, Billy could smell rotting flesh. The odor seemed to hang in the air like an invisible cloud that surrounded the dead men.

The five feet of separation between Billy and the creatures quickly shrank to nothing as the things closed to a killing distance. As the creatures reached for him, Billy ducked under one of the zombie’s outstretched arms, dropped to one knee, and brought the rifle’s sight up to the nearest creature. Looming over him, he saw the dead man’s face—tattered and ravaged, missing chunks of skin and an ear, but still sporting a mouth full of yellow teeth. Billy pulled the trigger, and his target’s head exploded. Cocking the repeater rifle once again, he now aimed for the second creature. As he pulled the trigger, instead of the bullet’s report, he only heard an impotent click—the gun jammed.

“Goddamn it,” he swore as he struggled to clear the jammed bullet from the gun’s firing chamber.

As he fought to clear his jammed gun, the several zombies he first saw grew to over a dozen, surrounding and blocking all escape to the house.

In his dash back toward the farm house, Cal had a several step lead over his brother. Only as Cal reached the fire pit did he turn to find that his brother was still forty feet away—trapped and surrounded by the dead. Instinctively, he dropped behind the fire pit’s side and used the rough-hewn stone to steady the rifle’s barrel.

Bang…bang…bang!

Shot after shot rang out as Cal fired on the dead, but—at this distance—his marksmanship couldn’t drop every target. Even worse, the creatures swarmed closer and closer. The things reached out with hands that were decayed and demanding, as they surrounded the boy.

Billy felt panic settling in. His gun was jammed, and he had no way to retreat to the farmhouse. As he struggled with the gun, the remnants of a large and busty lady made a grunting sound and swung a thick arm toward him. Billy managed to duck under the outstretched arm and moved off to his left, out of reach. Even as he moved, another zombie grabbed at him, taking hold of his shirt sleeve. With a struggle, he wrenched his arm free of the clutching hand. A third creature, sporting a face frozen into a perpetual snarl, grunted twice as it lunged at him, moving faster than he had ever seen one of these things move. Startled, Billy fell backward and landed on his rear.

Ah, shit! This is bad, he thought.

Billy crab-crawled backward, trying to put at least some distance between him and the dead man. Even as he crawled, two other creatures approached from his right while three more advanced on the left. This gave him no option but to go backward to the dog pen. Sure, he was faster and more agile, but that was when he was on his feet. Down here, crab-crawling on his hands and feet, Billy had limited options. Making matters worse, the dead seemed to be everywhere. With no place to hide and nowhere to run, all Billy could do was continue crawling backward and hope that he could keep some distance between himself and certain death.

Each deafening sound of gunshot after gunshot told Billy that his family was nearby and trying to help. With each gunshot, he saw several of the dead collapse as bullets pierced their skull. Though, even as some zombies were dropped by the gunfire, the remaining dead struggled on—their hands constantly reaching out and grasping for him. Panicked, he continued to crawl backward until his shoulders finally collided with the planks of the dog pen.

Cornered. Damn!

He couldn’t run. They were all around him. All he could do was squeeze through the narrow space between the dog pen’s boards. His small shoulders scraped painfully on the wood as he pulled himself into the pen. Suddenly, a hand reached from the darkness and grabbed his foot, tugging at it painfully. Glancing back as he struggled to pull his foot free, Billy saw a zombie’s purple and bloated face bend forward, intent on its meal. It inched forward, getting closer and closer. Just before the zombie’s teeth could tear at his flesh, with one last tug, Billy pulled his foot free. He scrambled backward to join his beloved dog on the far side of the pen. Unfortunately, the dead soon completely surrounded the pen, all seeking to find a point of entry to secure their dinner.

* * * *

Through the scope of her rifle, Sam watched her brother’s plight. As quick as her training with a gun allowed, she sighted each target that approached the pen, steadied the crosshairs of the scope, and fired.

Bam, bam, bam!

She fired shot after shot, and with each bullet, one of the creatures dropped to the ground. Even though Sam’s skill with a gun was considerable, with so many moving targets in the dim light, it was getting more difficult to choose a target—that is, one that didn’t also endanger her brother.

Bam. She dropped one more.

The remaining zombies fully surrounded the pen, and even worse, she could no longer see her brother.

Too many of them, she thought. They’re all over the place. Where’s Billy?

She scanned the area, but all she saw were walking dead surrounding the pen, climbing onto its top, and clamoring to get in. Sure, they appeared weak and slow, but as her father had said, “You watch out for them. You get enough of ‘em together, and they’ll tear into about near anything.” Sam continued to search for a clean shot when she finally heard a scream.

Billy? No! It’s not gonna happen, she thought. No damn way is this gonna happen. Not in a month of Sundays is this gonna happen. No one…no one is gonna hurt my brother!

Sam dropped the rifle and swung her legs over the roof’s edge, dropping the ten feet to the ground below. She landed hard but unhurt. Gathering herself, Sam got to her feet and ran as fast as she could toward the pen, easily covering the short distance in just a few seconds. As she approached, she drew her six-shot Colt pistol from its holster while mentally doing the math—three, six, eight, eleven.

Darn! More critters than bullets. Wish I brought the huntin’ rifle, even if it’s just a single shot.

When Sam reached the pen, two large walking dead caught her scent, turned away from the pen, and lurched toward her. Despite one of the creatures missing its arm just below the shoulder, that didn’t seem to slow its advance. With only her pistol to protect her, Sam knew she couldn’t afford to miss, so she waited several seconds until the zombies had closed in to no more than two arm’s length away. While at this range, the zombies were near enough for a clean shot, they were also close enough for Sam to both see and smell their putrid and decaying flesh.

Argh! This feller is pretty ripe.

With the pistol held high and level with her shoulder, she pulled the trigger, and the nearest dead man dropped almost immediately. Turning to the second one, she again pulled the trigger, and it too collapsed onto the ground.

Two down, but I gotta make these bullets last.

Moving nimbly, Sam ducked under the outstretched arms of a dead woman. She dodged around another walker and finally was at the dog pen. Unfortunately, what she saw made her heart sink. Two dead were on top of the pen, three more on one side, with two on the other side. With faces pressed against the pen’s boards, all of the monsters were reaching into the pen for Billy. Even worse, a dead man missing both his legs just below the knees was just thin enough to pull himself between the boards and crawl into the pen.

Who’s first? It’s gotta be Stumpy. Can’t let him get into the pen.

Still clutching his beloved dog, Billy cowered on the opposite side of the pen. Only five feet away, the dead amputee had just pulled his shoulders past the boards and now had a clear path to the boy.

Sam reholstered her gun and dove for the creature’s protruding bone stumps. Grabbing them, she pulled with all her might, but the zombie still fought to crawl forward. Ultimately, Sam would have easily won this life or death tug-of-war if not for the remaining zombies still surrounding the pen. They all noted her arrival and were now slowly advancing toward her.

This lethal predicament left her with a difficult choice to make: keep holding the crawling zombie—and she was sure to be supper for the rest of the zombies—or let go, and defend herself while putting Billy at risk. While in her mind, this moment of indecision seemed like a lifetime. In reality, it was made in a heartbeat.

I gotta think about Cal, Kate…and even Mama. They’re my responsibility, too. With considerable reluctance, she let go of the crawling creature. Sam quickly rolled to her right, away from the nearest dead, while drawing her gun from its holster.

“Here ya go. Have some, you ugly cuss.”

Sam fired her gun at the head of the nearest dead—a zombie that looked more like a ghoul than what used to be a man. The left side of the thing’s head exploded as the bullet tore through its decaying brain. With its brain destroyed, the creature collapsed to the ground, immobile and truly dead. As it dropped, it blocked the advance of two other zombies, albeit temporarily. This gave Sam a split second to take aim on the crawling zombie, which was now within a few feet of Billy. Unfortunately, from where Sam lay, she just didn’t have a good shot at the zombie. Even worse, if she missed, she’d hit Billy.

Damn, damn, damn! Only three bullets left.

Back on her feet, Sam dodged to her right, moving away from another walker’s outstretched arms. She looked for a better angle to take her shot. Finally finding a clean shot, Sam dropped to her knees and again took aim at the crawling zombie. The thing had reached Billy—its bony fingers grasped at the boy’s trousers, causing him to shriek.

Overcome with terror, Billy froze in place. He was unable to move away and completely incapable of fighting off the advancing dead man. Close by, the crawling dead approached. With caked-blood covering what remained of its face, and driven by some primitive impulse, the zombie continuously snapped its jaws at Billy—a constant and deadly biting behavior. With Billy’s leg now in its clutches, it was ready for food to satisfy its insatiable hunger.

From outside the pen, Sam took careful aim, hoping neither her target nor her brother would move; however, before she could fire, Billy’s dog squirmed away from its frightened owner’s grasp and sprang into action. It charged the crawling zombie with teeth bared and growling ferociously. The dog collided with the zombie, knocking it backward while it bit the dead man’s flailing arm.

Where a normal person would be dissuaded by the attack of an angry and determined dog, the dead have no such fears. Where both Sam and Billy saw flailing arms, in reality, it was trying to grab the dog, recognizing it as another potential meal. Ultimately, the dog was overmatched, and the zombie’s arms caught hold and drew it toward waiting teeth. As the dog struggled, the zombie finally took a bite, its teeth rending a several inch chunk of flesh from the dog’s hindquarter. The dog’s searing yelp of pain finally stirred Billy.

“Champ! Champ! Let him go, you bastard!”

Billy sprang forward and kicked the thing’s head, jarring free its hold on the dog. With the dog away, the zombie turned its soulless eyes toward Billy and grabbed his pant leg once again with its skeletal hand. The creature pulled itself, and its hungry and waiting mouth, toward the boy. As it leaned in, it tipped its head back for the bite—one that Billy knew would be fatal. Black teeth exposed as its mouth stretched wide, but just inches before making contact with Billy’s leg, the creature’s head jerked violently to the left, and it fell to the ground. Billy stared at the zombie, incredulous and failing to understand what his own eyes had seen, Finally, he saw the hole in its head and understood. His sister’s gunshot went right through the zombie’s skull! Glancing toward the sound of the gunshot, he saw Sam crouched low on the ground with her gun drawn and still smoking.

Got him, Sam thought. Only two shots left!

She struggled to get back to her feet having first to crawl between the legs of an ungainly dead man. Though she saved her brother from one marauding monster, it didn’t do anything for the seven remaining dead now stumbling toward her. Finally back on her feet, she darted to her left, ducking under a large, dead man’s outstretched arms. Glancing over to check on her brother, Sam lost focus for just a second but long enough to trip and fall to the cold, hard ground. Immobile and completely vulnerable, three of the dead soon surrounded her, each with empty and lifeless eyes intent on feeding. Six pairs of arms reached down for her. Inches from grabbing and pulling her to waiting mouths, one zombie suddenly shook as if in a convulsion. The creature finally collapsed face first to the ground, with a garden hoe imbedded in the zombie’s cranium!

With his sister in mortal danger, Billy crawled out of the pen and to her aid, striking with the only thing he could find—a farm tool left leaning against the pen while awaiting the next day’s work. Sure, one creature was down, but two more dead remained near at hand, and three more just a few feet beyond. One of these zombies now turned toward Billy—an appealing morsel for its endless appetite.

* * * *

While Sam and Billy struggled with her attackers at the dog pen, Cal and Katey remained at their station at the farmhouse door. The two were far from uninvolved spectators as more dead—either unaware or uninterested in the pen—advanced on the house, drawn over by the presence of the children. Cal let his Winchester rifle sing out, firing round after round at the advancing creatures. An overweight woman, in a threadbare dress and missing huge chunks of flesh from her body, got within ten feet before Cal dropped her with a shot to her head. As the zombie-woman collapsed to the ground, two more dead—both men in equal decay—approached from the left. Cal’s first shot went wide, and his second shot hit one man in the chest—both to no avail. Cal held his breath, steadied his rifle barrel, took careful aim, and squeezed the trigger. This time, his concentration paid off as his shot split the zombie’s head and dropped it to the ground. Even with this success, one more dead man remained and continued his advance, not caring about the loss of its companions. Cal fired, hitting the man in its chest and driving it back only a couple of steps, but being impervious to pain, it shambled forward with single intent. He fired again, this time hitting the dead man’s shoulder. By now, the zombie was within only a few feet of the children. At this close range, Cal struggled to cock his rifle and again take aim.

Only a few feet behind her brother, Katey diligently stood her post next to the front door, providing the last barrier—protecting both their farmhouse and their invalid mother. She watched her brother’s shots, both his hits and misses, but it was his last shot and miss that disturbed her.

Too close, she gasped to herself. That thing is too close to Cal!

Rushing forward to her brother’s side, she brought her shotgun up and fired point blank at the creature. Her well-placed shot was a credit to the diligent training provided by her parents. The zombie’s head exploded almost completely, evaporating from the buckshot’s violent force.

“Good shot, Katey,” Cal said. He knew the celebration had to wait as he again scanned the yard for zombie targets.

Nothing to the left…and nothing to the right, he thought. Now, where are Sam and Billy?

From this vantage point, he didn’t have a good view of the pen, but his ears told him that violence continued. So, he turned again to Katey.

“I gotta go help Sam! You stay here, and make sure none of them critters get anywhere near our house.”

“Okay…I will.”

Cal reflexively tussled her hair—which she hated but silently tolerated—and sprinted into the yard toward the far dog pen, where he thought Sam and Billy must be. Before he disappeared into the dark, he shouted back to his sister, “You go, and be sure to reload.”

* * * *

Just as Sam got to her feet, the dead thing looming over her did something she didn’t expect—lunge straight for her. Maybe it was more of an uncontrolled fall than a lunge, but time seemed to slow as the dead man fell, hanging in the air just above her and then slamming down. Though dead, it retained much of its girth from life. As a result, its landing on Sam was dramatic, driving the air from her chest while pinning her to the ground. Even in this prone position, slightly good fortune placed Sam’s hands between her and the man. This allowed her the necessary leverage to hold the creature at bay, but to do so, she had to drop the pistol. While the zombie leaned in to bite, Sam fought back using all her strength to keep the zombie at bay. The struggle continued for second after long second with neither prevailing. Finally, Sam found the leverage that allowed her to roll the dead man over and leaving her on top, but the zombie continued to struggle. Equally matched for now, with neither having a decided advantage, Sam understood that different from her, this zombie wouldn’t tire nor would it stop. Ultimately, it would prevail. Moreover, if this one didn’t get her, the other dead quickly surrounding her would.

Nearby, her brother’s plight was just as dire. A dead woman wearing a dress caked in dirt and blood followed Billy as they both circled the pen. To his misfortune, as Billy ran past one of the remaining zombies, it caught his scent and began pursuing the boy, even though Sam was closer at hand. Unfortunately for the boy, these two dead closed on him from opposite directions, leaving him no choice but to dart away from the pen and into the darkness.

Meanwhile, Sam held the drooling zombie man pinned to the ground. The creature kept turning its head and trying to bite her fingers. This left her no choice but to finally loosen her grip and move her hands. Just as Sam moved her right hand out of the way, the dead man shifted its weight and threw the girl from on top of him. She landed nearby, rolling on the ground several feet from her attacker. With separation from the zombie, she used the distance to get back to her feet, knowing her best advantage was her mobility.

On her feet once again, Sam looked around first for her brother and then for her dropped pistol. She saw Billy darting from the light of the bonfire and into the enveloping blackness. This left the two zombies that chased him to bump comically into each other and then fall to the ground. With her brother safely away, at least for now, this left her with the task of dealing with all the remaining zombies—the two zombies that chased Billy around the pen, the zombie she had struggled with on the ground, and the four more dead nearby.

First, get my gun—and how many bullets? Hmmm, gotta be two shots left. I’ll get my gun, deal with these buggers, and then go get Billy.

On the ground nearby was her gun, but to get to it, Sam had to get around both the zombie she had struggled with on the ground and the lady zombie that had chased Billy.

“Well, gotta’ take this one head on,” she said to no one but herself, and she darted straight for the lady zombie. At the last moment, Sam cut to its left, dropped to the ground, and slid on her hip just under the slower moving lady zombie’s reach. It was a close encounter, with only inches separating Sam from the bony fingers grabbing for her. Contorting her body to provide the needed distance, Sam ensured that she was just out of reach. Safely past her first obstacle, she grabbed her discarded pistol and returned it to her holster.

Gotta keep my hands free, she thought.

With the gun retrieved, she quickly got back to her feet and kept moving toward her next objective—the garden hoe. This was the same one Billy had used so effectively against an attacking zombie. While not ideal, the hoe was the only thing in sight that could be used as a weapon. Unfortunately, it remained imbedded in the head of the immobile and “dead” zombie.

Not a great weapon, she thought. It sure don’t look like I got other options, though.

Sam yanked hard on the hoe’s handle until the blade finally shook free from the zombie’s head. With the hoe in hand, she advanced toward the remaining dead.

“Hey, you ugly stinkers,” Sam hollered toward the walking dead. “Y’all want ta’ come have some supper?”

Oblivious to her weapon, all of the remaining creatures turned and began moving toward her.

“Yeah! Come on, you dumb cusses. Over here!”

Soon, all seven zombies advanced—a jerking, dead platoon with three on one side of her and the remaining four approaching from the other. It was a race for dinner, all focused upon Sam.

“All right…Y’all look good and hungry.”

With this last taunt, Sam swung the hoe at the nearest creature. Different from her brother’s technique, she chose to strike it with the backside of the hoe, using the blunt force of the metal head instead of the blade. A simple decision, as the blade—while lethal—could just as easily get stuck in its victim’s head. Used in this fashion, however, the hoe was more of a club used for brute force. The back of the hoe struck the dead thing’s head, leaving a dent from the force of its impact. This caused the dead man to wobble noticeably. She swung again, bringing the hoe in a wide arc and hitting a different zombie with another clean blow to the head. This time, the blow brought this creature to its knees. It was down but not finished. With the number of dead approaching, there was no time to finish the job. Instead, Sam swung again, hitting another zombie with a clean blow.

This is doing nothin’ but slowin’ ‘em down, she thought. It’s difficult work to boot!

Although each swing of the hoe was slowly draining more energy from her, Sam’s nature wouldn’t let her quit. Nor would it allow her to give up. She swung again and again, hitting all seven of the zombies. Her attack drove two creatures to the ground where they still crawled on hands and feet toward her. Having separated one zombie from the others, she used that moment to bring the hoe down, blade first in a deathblow. With a sickening whack the hoe split open the skull piercing deep into the cranium, and the zombie collapsed, finally “dead” to this world.

Unfortunately, this victory came at a cost. Just as Sam feared, the blade was stuck in the zombie’s skull. Sam struggled with the blade, wiggling it back and forth and trying to free it as the remaining dead closed in. Now close enough to touch, one creature grabbed Sam’s shoulder and drew her toward its waiting teeth.

Damn, I got no choice, she thought.

Quick as lightning, Sam drew her pistol from its holster and placed it against the zombie’s forehead. With the gunshot’s thunderous sound, it collapsed “dead” onto the ground.

Only one bullet left but five to go. Argh!

She reholstered her gun, gave the hoe one last, frantic yank that finally freed it from the dead zombie’s head, and turned to confront the remaining zombies.

* * * *

Cal’s sprint across the yard brought him to the dog pen and his sister’s side just as she again wielded the hoe against her five remaining zombie attackers.

“Behind you, Sam,” he hollered. “Behind you! Jig to the left.” He dropped to one knee to steady the rifle for a clear shot.

Seeing her brother in a shooting position, Sam swung the hoe to her left, again hitting a zombie on the forehead. As she swung, she followed the hoe’s movement to the left, leaving one creature clear for Cal’s shot.

Bang!

The rifle shot echoed across the farmyard as the clean head shot immediately dropped the zombie.

“There’s one. At this range, it’s like shootin’ sick chickens,” Cal said. He cocked his rifle, loading another round and ready to shoot.

“Good shot! Now, don’t get cocky,” Sam said. “Ready?”

“Yah, boy!” An almost gleeful smile covered the boy’s face.

Sam swung and separated the group of walking dead, driving another one into Cal’s firing range. Again, the gunshot echoed, and the zombie dropped to the ground. Wielding the hoe against the remaining attackers, Sam swung again and again with Cal supplying the finishing gunshots. Finally, only the fat lady zombie remained. Cal again cocked his rifle and readied his shot, but before he could shoot, his sister spoke.

“Hold on. This’n is mine.”

Though exhausted from her fight, she was not willing to give in to her overwhelming desire to stop and rest. Nor was she willing to let someone—in this case, her younger brother—finish her work. With sweat pouring from her brow, she swung the hoe one last time. The sharp-edged blade led this time as the hoe sunk deep into the dead woman’s head and cleaving it almost entirely in two. Its brain destroyed, the zombie dropped to the ground. As it collapsed, Sam finally let go of the hoe and went to her brother’s side.

“Good job, little buck,” she said. “Your sister okay?”

“Yeah, she’s a cummer. No one’ll get past her.”

While they spoke, Sam continued searching, her eyes constantly in motion while looking for any attacker, be it zombie or anything else that would threaten her family. Seeing none, she draped a caring hand on Cal’s shoulder and gave him a quick hug.

Now, to find Billy.

“Billy, you out there?” she hollered towards the darkness in the direction the boy disappeared.

“Yeah, Sam. I’m here,” a voice shouted from the black, just beyond the firelight. Seconds later, her brother emerged into the dim light, looking very tired as he closed the twenty yards that separated them.

“You okay? You get bit?”

“Nah. Sorry, Sam. Thought some of ‘em would follow me, but they didn’t.”

“Ah, it’s okay. I just reckon they wanted a taste of me a bit more.”

Even in the dim light, she saw her jest bring a smile to her brother’s face, which in turn made her smile.

As Billy drew closer, he saw his sister’s smile fade into the deadly stare he knew so well. Her hand went to her gun, drawing it effortlessly and pointing it directly at him. He froze, unable to either move or understand her actions.

Wha…? What’s this? Why would she…unless…unless…she thinks I’m bit!

“Sam,” he pleaded! “I ain’t bit! I told ya, I ain’t been bit!”

Sam didn’t reply. She just cocked the trigger on her pistol, chambering its last round.

“Billy…don’t move.” Her expression was as emotionless as her voice. Beads of sweat ran down, threatening her concentration. Nothing would break her intense focus as she aimed her pistol. After several seconds, she pulled the trigger, and a bullet whistled by Billy’s head, hitting a zombie that was no more than two feet behind the boy. The shot was true, dropping a gnarled and decayed creature that was once a teenage boy.

As the shot rang out, Billy turned his head. The tail wind of the bullet whizzed by him, no more than a couple of inches from his face. As he turned his head, only then did he see the thing that was so close behind and understand his peril.

With the zombie down, Sam ran forward and embraced her brother, the emotion of the evening overcoming her. Tears welled up in her eyes and streamed down, washing away the grime that still covered her face.

Cal followed her to Billy’s side but kept his gun trained on the darkness, looking for any further intruders.

“You got sand, big sister,” Cal said. “You got sand.”

Sam grabbed Cal and Billy into a hug, but just as quickly, she released them. Danger still remained.

“Let’s get undercover. Billy, go tend to your dog. Bring him in for the night. He earned it. Now, come on… get on with it.”

With the dog retrieved, the three of them returned to the farmhouse and their waiting sister. Sam knew that relaxation wouldn’t happentonight—not with this magnitude of an attack.

So many, she thought. I’ve never seen so many at one time!

With some effort, she pushed the thought from her mind and turned to the matters at hand—protection of her family. While her brother tended to his injured dog, Cal and Sam spent the remainder of the night in a cold, lonely vigil, standing guard on the roof of the farmhouse. Though they watched and waited all night for any further sound or sign of zombies, no more came.

When the sun finally rose many cold hours later, only then did Sam finally loosen her death grip on her rifle. She stood and looked out over the landscape, watching as the shadows slowly, begrudgingly departed. It was the start of another day on the farm.