Coscom Entertainment

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons living or dead or any known Bigfoot is purely coincidental.

ISBN 978-1-926712-80-2

Bigfoot War: Dead in the Woods is Copyright © 2011 by Eric S. Brown. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce in whole or in part in any form or medium.

Published by Coscom Entertainment

www.coscomentertainment.com

Text set in Garamond

eBook Edition

Cover art by Gary mcCluskey

Cover design by A.P. Fuchs and Gary mcCluskey

For my son, Merrick, whose imagination knows no bounds.

Chuck

“Man, that’s so lame,” Ryan said with a frown as Chuck cranked up Pat Benatar’s “Shadows of the Night.”

Riding in a beat-up Ford, Chuck shot him a look from the driver’s seat. “It’s from Dance of the Dead,” Chuck said. “Remember the scene with the band?”

“Dance of the Dead sucked, mate. Vanguard, now that was a real zombie flick.”

“Uh-uh, we ain’t having that fight again. Forget it!”

The Ford bounced slowly down the winding gravel driveway from the top of Balasm Mountain towards the interstate. “You think Sarah will be there tonight?”

“Oh, you can bet on it and so will Matt. You need to move on and get over her, buddy. She’s out of your league. I mean, she’s freaking hot, popular, and she has a boyfriend. You’re wearing a Fangoria shirt. Come on.”

“Sarah likes horror. She grew up watching it with her dad.” Chuck pulled onto the main road and punched it. The ancient truck’s engine thumped a couple times as it struggled to pick up speed.

Ryan smirked. “You’re stalking her on Facebook again, aren’t you?”

Chuck turned bright red. “Maybe,” he said weakly.

Ryan shook his head, sighed, and dug out a cigarette from his jacket pocket. He lit up, leaned back against his seat. With the window rolled down, he enjoyed the wind blowing over him as he took his first puff. “Put on some Iron Maiden. I’d love to hear ‘Run to the Hills’ before we get there because that’s what you’re going to be doing when Matt catches you staring at her rear end tonight.”

“Screw you,” Chuck muttered flatly.

“Hey!” Matt sat up. “I’m just trying to help you not get yourself killed.”

“Says the guy who doused the entire football team in pig’s blood at Homecoming. I still haven’t figured out how you’re not in jail or at least suspended for that one.”

He shrugged. “Dad’s got green. Green rules the world. End of story.”

Chuck loved Ryan like a brother, but at times like this even he wanted to punch him in the teeth. Compared to himself, Ryan was the king of the county. His dad was insanely rich so he had a permanent get-out-of-trouble-free card tucked in his family tree. He had the whole artsy, bad boy thing, too. It also didn’t hurt Ryan was a talented writer who’d already been published in more than a few magazines either. His only real fault was his ego, but it was a big one. Chuck didn’t know how Vera put up with him. Of course, she was a user and likely when she got tired of Ryan, she would drop him as fast as she blew him on their first date. Ryan’s story of that was epic, but it didn’t take a quantum physicist to figure out that it really was true. That was just who Vera was—a steamy Goth chick with midnight hair out to prove her sexuality and darkness to everyone. She was the kind of girl who took her dates to the sex aisle of the bookstore when they went out for coffee and asked what they wanted later. Not that this was in any way a bad thing unless you were looking for a serious relationship with her, which, as far as he could tell, Ryan wasn’t.

Ryan was his polar opposite in that regard. As much as Ryan thought otherwise, it wasn’t just Sarah’s blazing hot looks and lust that drew Chuck to her. Sure, she was shapely and well-toned. She hunted bears for crying out loud, and had a healthy dose of tomboy in her, but she always wore dresses to school, looking every inch the southern lady that she was. Her voice was soft like a gentle rain and she held an air of innocence that set his heart to fluttering every time he looked into those ocean-blue eyes of hers. Her long brown hair―which he also had a thing for―was merely a bonus. Chuck had thought all of it over a lot and knew what he felt for her was love, and one day he’d unlock her inner horror geek. They would ride off together like two heroes escaping a city full of the hungry dead to make out in his room watching Dog Soldiers.

“Hey, Chuck” Ryan interrupted his daydreaming. “We got two hours to kill until the party. You wanna hit the comic shop?”

Chuck’s eyes lit up at those magic words and he nodded. “Now that’s a good idea.”

The lot was empty as they pulled in except for Keith’s truck, with its tailgate Transformers and Batman stickers. Ryan noticed there was a new edition to Keith’s collection: a Green Lantern logo glittered in the truck’s rear window above a tattered sticker of the words “Klaatu Barada Nikto.” It was almost closing time but Chuck knew Keith would stay open for Ryan’s seemingly bottomless wallet.

The two of them hopped out of the Ford and went in. The bell above the door jingled as they entered and Ryan headed straight for the new release wall.

Keith glanced up at them from behind the counter where he worked on placing his latest order with the distributor. “The new issue of Legion just came in,” he said to Chuck as he got up and pulled a copy from Chuck’s hold box.

“Awesome.” Chuck grinned like a fool as he slid his billfold from his back pocket. He frowned as he saw he was down to his last twenty dollars. The Ford needed gas and he wanted to have some money on hand in case he was able to lure Sarah away from the party. “Can you hold it for me? I get paid next week.”

“Sure,” Keith said with disappointment and a touch of pity in his voice as he set the issue down on the counter. “Times are tough and these new higher cover prices aren’t helping.”

Ryan came over and plopped a stack of books beside Keith’s register. “Bag and board ’em, too.” Keith set in on totaling up his purchase. Chuck saw Ryan notice the Legion issue lying there. “Go ahead and toss in that one, too. Can’t have my mate here going without his Dream Girl and Shadow Lass fix, now, can I?”

Chuck supposed he should have protested, but he kept his mouth shut. He really wanted the Legion issue and hadn’t missed one in years. If Ryan’s showing off kept his run intact, who was he to complain about it? He’d learned long ago that pride only got you in trouble.

Vera

“Vera?” her dad yelled as she tugged on her fishnets below her low-cut, tux-like shirt.

“What?” she shouted back, searching for her boots.

“Get down here!” he said. “Now!”

She shot a glance at herself in the mirror to make sure she had her “Zee” look on just right. Zatanna made Ryan throb and she wanted him inside her tonight. Needed it, even. Ryan might be sick and perverted but he made her feel alive when his hands tore at her clothes, his breath catching in ragged gasps of longing as he called her name. Tonight, she wanted him wrapped around her little finger because she was planning on asking the question. The one she should have asked a long time ago.

Vera gave her hair a final toss then darted from her room, racing to the stairs. Her dad waited at the bottom with an angry expression and a half-empty bottle of Vodka. The house was in its usual state of empty pizza boxes flung about, overflowing ashtrays, and flies buzzing in the kitchen over the trash that should have been hauled to the dump days before.

Her father’s gaze locked onto her fishnet-covered thighs and moved upwards. “I told you to vacuum today, didn’t I? Your cat has got the carpet crawling with fleas again.”

“Sorry,” she said sarcastically, “I had this thing called school I had to go to.”

He took a step in retreat as she moved closer to him, coming off the stairs. “I’m going out,” she said firmly.

“Dressed like that?” he said with a sneer. “I can give you what you’re looking for right here.”

“You’re drunk.” Vera fought to contain her disgust and kept her calm. “Why don’t you go sleep it off before you start something you’ll regret, Paul?” She shoved him as she spat his name like a curse word.

He unconsciously reached for the scar tissue on his cheek where she’d cut him with her switchblade last year. Defeated, he staggered towards his chair in front of the TV. “What would your mother think of that punk you’re seeing?” he asked without looking back at her. The TV clicked on, springing to life with some football game he’d saved on the DV-R.

“Yeah, what would she think of you?” Vera whispered as she opened the door.

The sun was beginning to sink behind the mountains as she walked across the yard to the road, flipping on her cell. She had to get out of here before they ended up really killing each other. Even if she got the better of her father when the time came, odds were she would end up in jail for a very long time. Girls like her weren’t exactly given equal treatment here in the South, and she knew it. She dialed Ryan’s number and hoped he would answer.

Jonathan

“That’s sick,” Kelly said, keeping her distance.

Jonathan had no such luxury. Someone needed to take a closer look at the corpse. He knelt beside the bear, or rather what was left of it. Its mangled remains lay stomach side to the dirt, with its entrails leaking from beneath it. The bear’s neck was clearly broken and its head twisted up and to the right. A long wound ran the length of its back as if someone or something had deboned it like a fish. There was no sign of the bear’s missing spine. The stench of decay and rotting flesh coming from it was nearly unbearable. Jonathan jerked the top of his shirt over his nose and mouth to help block out the stench. He guessed the body had been lying here since at least the morning of the day before, maybe longer than that. Flies buzzed around them, demanding their share of the rotting carcass.

Jonathan hastily got up and moved a few feet away, and stood next to Kelly again.

“Well, I gotta admit, I never seen anything like this before,” he said. “No wonder the Wagner kids were so flipped out from finding it.”

“So what do we do?”

He thought for a second. The light of the setting sun sparkled on the silver sheriff’s badge pinned to his chest. “I reckon for starters we tell the Wagners to keep those kids from coming into these here woods for a bit until we know what we’re dealing with. Anything that would do this to a bear would eat them alive, that’s for sure.”

Kelly nodded. “Good thinking, but surely you don’t believe another animal did this? I mean, this was the work of some messed up sicko. Had to be.”

Jonathan grunted. “How many folks do you know that kill a bear with their bare hands? There’s not a single gunshot or blade wound on the thing.”

“Okay, so my theory isn’t perfect. You have a better one?” she said.

“No,” he admitted, removing his hat and running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t think I do. Regardless, we best be heading in. We’ll get Doc Kim up here tomorrow. I am not hauling that thing into town.”

“Yeah, Halloween ain’t until tomorrow night, but I hear the kids are starting early this year.” Her tone was grim.

Jonathan echoed it as he said, “Let’s hope no one dies this go ’round.”

Last year, A.J. Buchanan and his girlfriend, Naomi, got too drunk and reckless. A.J.’s Mustang hit a tree doing sixty and caught fire before help arrived. To this day, Jonathan wondered if they died on impact or sat there trapped, too injured to move or escape, as the flames melted their skin from their bones. The wreck haunted him. Even though that night he’d been on the other side of the county breaking up a bar brawl, he cursed himself for not sending a deputy to shut down that night’s party sooner than he had. One drink less might have saved their lives and A.J. and Naomi would still be alive today.

Kelly must have noticed his mulling it over for the thousandth time because she laid a hand on his shoulder. “Like you said, not anything else we can do here this evening and it’s going to be a late night, I imagine. You feel like stopping at Clyde’s for some coffee?” She removed her hand, but her expression remained reassuring.

He nodded. “You know, I think I do.”

The two of them walked from the woods to the spot where they left the patrol car, thankful to be leaving the bear’s stench behind them.

As they approached the car, Jonathan’s cell blared to life with his latest ring tone: “Savin’ the Day” from the Ghostbusters soundtrack. Hearing it, even though he knew it meant trouble, made him smile.

Kelly groaned. “It must be starting really early this year.”

“Hello?” he said in his normally cheerful voice. His regained humor crumbled at what he heard. “What?” he said as Stephanie, their office’s dispatcher spoke in a rapid and frantic voice, so fast he could barely understand her. He closed the phone, wide-eyed and stunned. “Something’s happened in Babble Creek.”

“What?”

“The military has closed all the roads going into Haywood County and something pretty dang ugly is happening over there. As to what, I’m sure we’ll soon find out.”

Sarah

Sarah held her breath. Her entire being was focused and centered on the target. She relished that blissful moment of perfection where she was at peace and certain of the outcome. Her finger squeezed the trigger. The .30-.06 bucked in her hands as the round erupted from its barrel. The shot slammed home, striking the tiny red dot at the target’s center. She breathed out slowly, lowering the weapon.

“Do you ever miss?” Bobbi said in apparent awe. The redhead stood with Matt at the back of the range. Sarah chuckled at Bobbi’s amazement.

“Sarah’s the best,” Matt told her, but there was no pride or real feeling in his voice as he spoke the words. Sarah saw him check his watch then motioned for her to hurry up.

“We have to go, honey. I bet the rest of the band are already there and wondering where we are,” Matt said.

Sarah sighed and returned the rifle to its home in its case.

“Besides,” he droned on, leaning in to give her a peck on the cheek, “you’ve got to get dolled up, too.”

Sarah was naturally beautiful and most boys would have drooled over her in the camo pants and T-shirt she wore, her long brown hair tied in a tight ponytail, but not Matt. He wanted his trophy girl in a dress with her makeup flawless. Of late, Matt’s demands were beginning to take their toll on her. She understood his need to look the part of the singer he was. His budding career and drive she could relate to from her own love of hunting, but Matt was taking it all too far. Signing at eighteen, even if it was to an “indie” country western label, was impressive, but it was no reason to turn into a jerk.

“Can I come with you?” Bobbi asked. “I need to freshen up myself.”

Sarah nodded and turned to head for the house. Matt smacked her bottom and playfully whooped as she passed him. He smiled. “That’s my girl.”

She gave him a scowl, but he didn’t seem to notice. His mind was likely lost in thinking about the show he’d be playing in about an hour for the party out at the Falls.

As Sarah and Bobbi reached the front door, Bobbi said, “Matt’s sweet, isn’t he? Handsome, too, and so, so talented. You’re really lucky to have him.”

Sarah feigned a smile but didn’t say a word. Her heart simply wasn’t in it anymore. She could remember when she would have said the same things about Matt, but those days felt long ago and lost in the shadows of the past. Now, he was more like a burden than anything else. Soon, she would find the courage to end it and then maybe Bobbi could have her turn if she thought Matt was so great. Most girls at school did. He was so charming; he could melt an iron heart when he wanted to. The catch was he’d never love anyone as much as he did himself and his music. Second fiddle wasn’t good enough for Sarah. She had her own plans for the future with or without Matt in it.

She picked a loose floral dress from her closet that added to the allure of her figure, but was still comfortable and easy to move in. She let down her hair and shook it, quickly running a brush through it a couple of times. Satisfied with her reflection in the mirror, she met Bobbi in the hallway as the redhead emerged from the guest bathroom and stepped into her path.

“This is really some house,” Bobbi said. “Your dad’s the guy who runs the paper mill, right?”

Sarah ignored the question. “Matt hates to be kept waiting. I bet he’s already got the car cranked.” She opened the door to the yard, ushering Bobbi into the fading sunlight as Matt drove the car up to meet them.

“Get in,” he said. “We’re late.”

Pete

Pete’s legs pumped beneath him. His breath came in ragged gasps as he ran and pushed his body to its limits and beyond. Wild-eyed with terror, the M-16 he carried brought him no comfort. The weapon was next to useless given what was after him. It simply didn’t have the firepower to do the job. A roar sounded from somewhere in the trees behind him. By all rights, he should be dead, and he knew it. Why he was alive was a mystery. He wondered if the beast was playing some kind of game like a cat with a mouse before finally swooping in for the kill.

His radio was gone. He’d lost it and his helmet to an unfriendly tree limb about two klicks back. Pete hadn’t dared to stop to get it. The radio, even if it survived the impact, was useless. It was short-range and there was no one left in his unit to call. No help would be coming until he found a phone or some other means to reach command. Cursing himself for not owning a cell phone like everyone else, even in combat these days, he used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow without slowing. The stitch in his side felt like it was about to burst open and leak his guts onto the grass of the forest floor. He couldn’t keep up this pace much longer, but stopping was a bad idea. It was like asking Death to pay him an untimely visit.

Pete knew Babble Creek was lost and Macon would be defenseless as most of its law enforcement officers were dead, so he poured on the speed for Jackson County to the west. As far as he knew, Jackson was completely untouched by the hell and chaos to the east. His commander had kept things so hush hush about Babble Creek the folks there might not yet know about the massacre next door, and if they did, what they heard would have been government-created lies. Pete was sure of that. The government would not risk the inevitable panic if folks knew creatures like Bigfoot were real. If the truth of Babble Creek came out, the entire South would be arming themselves and screaming bloody murder.

Pete thought about Danny, his five-year-old son. Danny was to play his first soccer game tomorrow on the other side of the country. He was glad his boy was safe and far from these parts where terror lurked in the woods, and from within every shadow inside of them. Holding him in his arms again and looking into those innocent, green eyes so full of life gave Pete a new sense of determination to live through this nightmare he was stuck in.

A pained noise escaped his lips as he strained to run even faster.

The town of Sylva couldn’t be that much farther away. If he could just get there, he could call for help and, Lord willing, live to see the sun rise in the morning.

Ryan

Night had fallen by the time Ryan and Chuck made it to the party after picking up Vera. Chuck had darted off to try to find Sarah, but he and Vera stayed in the Ford. The large, gravel clearing where everyone parked was dark and deserted except for the random person who drifted through to get more smokes or beer from their vehicles. Ryan hoped to make good use of their seclusion. Vera wasn’t in the best of moods, but that had never stopped her before. Sometimes, it even added to the experience for him. She was clearly upset about some crap that happened with her drunk of a father before they picked her up. Her facial expression was an odd mix of anger, hatred, desperation, and sadness.

As if reading his mind that her feelings weren’t his first priority, she shrugged her jacket from her shoulders and removed her shirt, tossing it aside onto the truck’s floor. Her bra was as black as pitch against her pale skin. It was lacey, with fine embroidered flowers, barely covering her B-cup-sized breasts while it pushed them up and made them look larger than they really were. Her lips parted ever so slightly as her tongue licked over them and Ryan grinned like a kid at Christmas. His hands tore at the zipper on his pants, jerking his underwear partially down to reveal what he held within.

“You owe me for this,” Vera said as she pushed his legs apart and lowered herself between them.

“Sure,” he mumbled as he released a whimper of pleasure as her wet mouth closed around him.

Five minutes later, he lay in the truck’s seat with Vera stretched out beside him and snuggled under his arm in the tight space.

He lazily fondled one of her breasts. “You wanna do it again?”

Vera slapped his chest.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “Then I guess we should go find Chuck.”

“That can wait. We need to talk.”

Ryan shook his head, pulling his pants back in place and zipping them up. “No, it can’t. I’m serious. He’s completely whacko over this Sarah girl. Her boyfriend will pound him into the ground when he catches him trying to make a move on her.” Ryan put her shirt into her hands. “I promise we’ll talk, okay? Just help me save Chuck’s butt first.” He leapt from the truck while Vera was still getting dressed. He felt guilty he hadn’t went on to the party with Chuck when they’d first arrived, but priorities were priorities and Vera’s lips out-rated his bro when he was horny.

The Falls was the place for parties and everyone in town knew it. It was high atop Bear Mountain and only accessible by a single winding gravel road. At the end of that road was the large clearing that he and Vera walked through. Tonight it was jampacked full of cars, trucks, and vans. There were even a couple of motorcycles. Together they found the trail leading alongside of the mountain to the actual Falls. There awaited another open area of grass and field beside Beaver Dam. Normally, one could hear the water pouring through the massive structure’s ancient floodgates, but this evening, all that was heard was the blaring country music of Matt and his band from the rickety and poorly-constructed, makeshift stage in the center of the clearing. The whole school looked to have turned out for the show. Ryan cursed under his breath. Finding Chuck was suddenly seeming like an impossible task but with Matt trapped on the stage performing, at least his buddy’s face likely wasn’t a mess of broken teeth and blood . . . yet.

Ryan held on to Vera’s hand and led her into the crowd.

Chuck

Chuck sat at the edge of the clearing closest to the dam, puffing on a cigarette. He hadn’t seen Sarah so far, but he knew she was here somewhere. There was no way Matt would let her miss his show whether she wanted to or not. The guy was a jerk and completely full of himself. Why Sarah ever hooked up with him was a mystery. Matt had money, but then again, so did she, so that couldn’t have been the reason. Sure, Matt was good looking in a redneck, southern boy kind of way and he had fame, at least here in Jackson County, but Chuck knew things like that didn’t matter to a girl like Sarah. He balled his hand into a fist and wished he wore a power ring on it. Then he could just imagine himself up a fancy car, a better body than the one he was trapped in, and everything else he needed to stand a shot at winning Sarah’s heart.

A guy in a Cure shirt, carrying a plastic cup full of beer, wandered over and plopped onto the grass beside him. “This music sucks,” the guy said, shaking his head full of long blond hair.

Chuck burst into laughter. “Yes,” he agreed wholeheartedly, “yes, it does.”

“You can bet I am going to rip that lame idiot a new one in the school paper next week. I think I’d rather listen to a cat dying.”

“I’m Chuck,” he said, offering his hand to guy he now recognized as Oz, the paper’s music critic who always wrote about gothic and punk bands in his column.

“Oz,” the kid confirmed, shaking it. “Good to know you.”

“Have you seen Sarah around tonight?”

“Sarah who?”

“Lancaster,” Chuck said before realizing that Oz didn’t have a clue who he was talking about. He shrugged and switched gears. “Where did you get the beer?”

“There’s a bunch of coolers and a keg or two near the stage.”

“Thanks,” Chuck said, nodding and getting to his feet. “See you around, I guess.”

He tossed his cigarette butt onto the grass and ground it out with his shoe before bracing himself to fight his way through the crowd again. He figured Matt would be keeping Sarah nearby where he could see her as he belted his crappy songs to the masses. He started for the stage and the beer. And where was Ryan? It seldom took him and Vera long to have their fun. It wasn’t like Ryan to totally ditch him.

Shoving his path through the rows of folks swaying to the music was like trying to push his way out of a mall surrounded by toothless zombies. He bet the crowd had the same amount of brains if they were actually enjoying Matt’s songs, too.

Finally, he reached his goal and snatched a bottle of Bud Light from the cooler’s pool of dirty, half-melted ice. He didn’t dare think about what might have been in the cooler before the beer was put there.

He turned to escape the crowd once more only to bump into Sarah. His jostled beer splashed from the open bottle onto her slim-fitting, floral blue dress. He broke down in panic. “I’m sorry,” he gushed as his face grew red. “I didn’t mean to, Sarah.”

Her eyes rose from staring at the wetness on her chest to meet his own. “It’s okay,” she said so softly he barely heard her over the music. He went silent without a clue as to what to say next. “Be careful, okay?” she added, then she swept by him with a group of other girls in tow, who must have been the other band members’ better halves, without so much as a glance back over her shoulder. He started after her. If ever perfection existed in the frail flesh of humanity, she was it. He stopped, not having the courage to follow her after all. Chuck slouched, defeated, his back towards the dam to wait on Ryan and Vera to find him.

A man burst from the trees in front of him. The man, gasping for breath, was drenched in sweat with a spatter of blood on his green uniform. Chuck did a double take as he saw the M-16 in his hands. The man was clearly a soldier of some kind and running for his life.

The man grabbed Chuck by the front of his shirt, yanking him close. “We’ve got to get these people away from here now!” His eyes were wide with terror and he appeared to be using all the strength he had left just to stay standing.

“Who are you?” he managed to ask before the man lifted his rifle at the sky and opened fire on full auto. Panic and chaos erupted around them. Chuck tried to grab the rifle from his hands, fearing the man had lost it. The man knocked Chuck’s breath from him with a blow to his stomach from the butt of the M-16.

“Run!” the man screamed at the top of his lungs. “They’re coming!” He fired another burst at the stars above. The crowd began to break up as people ran for their lives, disappearing into the trees. The soldier grabbed Chuck and jerked him back to his feet. “You got a car, kid?”

Chuck weakly nodded.

“Take me to it!” the soldier said. “Now!”

“What’s happening?” he whimpered as they ran for the clearing that served as the Falls’ parking area.

“Trust me, kid,” the soldier told him, “you don’t want to know.”

Kelly

Kelly had been a deputy for a long time. She came from a long line of cops and deputies who’d served in the mountains of North Carolina. Her job was her life. Others might dream of a family and kids, but not her. She was addicted to the thrill that came from putting an abusive husband on the ground with her elbow on his neck, or the rush of wading into a bar brawl with men twice her size to show them that the law would be kept here in Jackson even if she had to do it with her bare knuckles. She was easy to underestimate and that facade worked well for her. She wasn’t so much pretty as a kind of sultry cute, at least according to the guys she often overheard talking about her and her many-times-over broken nose—that she was so insecure over—only seemed to add to her appeal in a strange sort of way. She’d known Jonathan from the day he was elected, and respected both him and the badge he wore. He was levelheaded, fair, and strong-willed. Before tonight, she would have imagined the man simply couldn’t be spooked, but whatever was happening in Babble Creek had him totally flipping out. He kept the patrol car’s pedal to the floor as the sirens blared and they streaked through town, heading for the station.

“What is it?” she asked him again. “What did Steph say?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said as he jerked the car’s wheel and sped through a red light without so much as slowing down to check for other vehicles. The car’s wheels shrieked in protest as they made the turn onto Main Street.

Kelly let go of the passenger side door she’d been clinging to when she realized she had been subconsciously pressing her nails into it, holding on for dear life. There was no reason to get jittery herself just because Jonathan was shaken up. “Jonathan!” She felt like slapping him upside the head as they reached the station and the car screeched to a stop. He was out of the car and running up the steps before she could even get her door open. She followed him inside. He was already barking orders at Steph when she entered.

“I don’t care if everyone’s on overtime pay or not. Get everyone we’ve got here now!”

Kelly watched as Jonathan whirled on Aaron, who was standing nearby with a cup of steaming hot coffee in his hands. “Get the key to the armory!” Jonathan shouted at him.

Aaron dropped his cup, spilling the dark liquid onto the floor, and sprinted for the rear of the station. Jonathan started for his office but Kelly placed herself in his path.

“That’s enough,” she said, placing a hand on his chest and stopping him where he was. “If we’re going to help you, we need to know what’s going on, don’t you think?”

He blinked as if waking up from a nightmare. “Babble Creek’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“According to the general who called Steph, every man, woman, and child who lived there is dead.”

“Oh for goodness’ sake,” Kelly said half in disbelief and half in shock. “It’s got to be a Halloween prank.”

“It’s not and it gets worse: there was a platoon of soldiers—a squad or whatever you call it—sent in to deal with the situation and they’re missing, too. No one’s heard from them in hours.”

“Was it because of that chemical spill that’s been all over the news this afternoon?” she asked.

“No. The general said it was a pack of some kind of new animal, and they’re likely on their way here to Jackson County right now.”

“Did he say what kind of animal?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan said. “He said it was, um, Bigfoot.”

The room fell silent as folks stared at the sheriff like he’d lost it. Kelly laughed in spite of herself. “Good one, Sheriff.” She popped him on the shoulder. “You really had us all going there.”

Jonathan’s expression was grim. “I’ve never known the army to have a sense of humor, have you? The general said help would be coming, but we might be on our own for a while until they can organize another effort to stop the monsters. This isn’t a joke. They’re real, and they’re coming.”

Kelly let his words sink in like bad medicine. Fear crept into her as she realized Jonathan was being dead serious. This was really happening.

“Oh,” she said, stepping aside. “I’ll, um, round up the rest of the staff. If we’re going to war with a myth, we’d better be as ready as we can.” I guess.

Vera

Vera instinctively ducked as the gunfire erupted from across the clearing, dragging Ryan to the dirt with her.

“What the heck?” Ryan wailed as the panic broke out around them. “That was an M-16.”

Vera leapt to her feet. “Come on!” she shouted, tugging at his arm. “We’re about to be trampled.”

People were already running and shoving past them on both sides. They joined the crowd, pumping their legs beneath them, the panicked mob controlling their movements like a strong current. Soon, they found themselves headed into the trees in the direction of the parking area below the Falls.

“What about Chuck? We can’t leave him!” Ryan yelled over the chaos.

Vera ignored him. Who brought the automatic rifle to the party? she wondered. Had some kid gone whacko and decided to make the nightly news covered in blood? All she knew for sure was that she wanted to live.

A roar echoed among the trees ahead of them followed by a chorus of terrified screams. These were genuine screams of fear and not merely wild panic. People turned back up the hill towards the gunfire. What the heck was happening?

A giant, hairy thing emerged from the trees to their right. Its eyes glowed yellow in the dim light of the stars. The thing had to be at least ten feet tall. It waded into the mass of the fleeing teenagers and lifted one unlucky kid in a Metallica shirt as its hand closed around his skull and crushed it. The monster flung the teen’s twitching body at those behind him. The monster sprang forward, leaving a trail of carnage and death in its wake as its massive fists broke bones and its filthy fingernails—which were long enough to be claws—slashed open chests and tore off faces. It set itself on a path straight for Vera. She froze in her tracks, her eyes locked onto the nightmare-made-flesh as it drew nearer.

She saw Ryan scoop up a large, fallen limb like a baseball bat and charge the thing in a moment of stupidity and selflessness. His action snapped her out of shock.

“Ryan!” she howled. “No!” But it was too late. Ryan slung the limb with all his strength. It slammed into the beast’s arm and snapped like a twig against the thing’s thick muscle. The monster didn’t so much as flinch. It grabbed him, lifting him to its body, and embraced him in a hug so tight his ribs made sickening popping noises as they caved inward and blood bubbled from his mouth. Wet gurgles replaced Ryan’s last breath as his body went limp.

The beast released his corpse and Vera realized she was alone. No one had stuck around to try to help. She heard the sounds of horns, running engines, and crashing cars from the clearing below along with the distant cries of terror and panic. From somewhere behind her, the M-16 chattered again as its barrel flashed in the darkness. Bullets ripped into the thing that stood before her. It released another earth-shaking roar as she heard Chuck shouting her name. She whirled around and ran back up the hill to see Chuck standing next to a man in a soldier’s uniform. The man was still firing at the creature on full auto. His rifle clicked empty as she reached the men.

Chuck

Chuck watched in horror as the hulking mass of hair and muscle simply shrugged off an entire clip from the soldier’s rifle. The beast was peppered with small, bleeding dots of red, but the bullets hadn’t really managed to penetrate the thick layers of muscle that covered its body beneath its leathery skin. If anything, the bullets only served to make the thing even angrier than it was. It bounded up the hill covering the distance between them before the soldier could even draw the 9mm holstered on his hip.

Chuck shoved the soldier hard, sending him tumbling from the monster’s path and rolling down the hillside. A massive, hairy fist swept through the air; Chuck threw himself backwards in a clumsy effort not to be caught by its swing. His butt collided with the dirt, palms touching the grass under him. He stared up at a monster that seemed to stepped right from the horrors of Hell into the realm of the living. Their eyes locked and he felt the hatred and anger burning in the yellow orbs above him.

“Hey!” Vera shouted as she hurled a rock the size of a softball at the monster. It bounced from its cheekbone with a dull thud. With a snarl, the monster turned and pounced after her. She spun around and sprinted down the hill.

“Vera!” he said, helpless to anything but haul himself to his feet. A hand fell on his shoulder and a jolt burst through him.

“Thanks, kid. Guess I owe you one,” the soldier said, pressing his pistol into Chuck’s hand. “My name’s Pete.” Chuck watched him load a fresh magazine into his rifle. “Let’s go save your girlfriend.”

Chucked nodded dumbly as the soldier smiled at him. Pete ran after the monster and Vera. He stood wide-eyed, staring at the pistol in his hand and wondering when his life had turned into a badly-scripted horror movie.

Vera

Vera hoped Chuck was up to being a hero. If he didn’t find a way to save her like she just had him, it was all over. No more yelling matches with her drunk dad, no more sex, no late night vampire movies or Goth makeup. There would be only pain and the cold of the dark. For his sake, though, she hoped it would be quick.

A tree limb came out of nowhere scratching her cheek as she plunged deeper into the woods. She released a litany of curses and rubbed at the stinging gash that ran from her ear to her jaw. Her hand came away red. She hated nature with a passion. Tripping over a half-buried overgrown tree root, she went sprawling onto the forest floor. Before she could even scream the creature was on her. It grabbed a fistful of her long hair and yanked her into the air. Scalp stinging, Vera’s vision blurred from the pain as her fingernails dug at the monster’s hand, trying to tear herself free. Her tearful wails echoed through the woods.

The sound of gunfire came from behind the monster and it dropped her to the ground. Chuck and the soldier had caught up to them. The muzzle of the soldier’s M-16 flashed like a strobe light and glowed hot in the shadows of the trees as bullets hammered into the monster and it grunted its displeasure. Vera noticed the rounds weren’t doing anything more than surface damage to the hairy creature. She curled up and kicked with both feet against the back side of its knee. Her blow took it by surprise and it toppled over as she rolled away, dodging its collapsing form. The rifle’s chattering stopped, and Vera wondered if the soldier was pausing to reload as Chuck came darting towards her and the monster. Like some kind of insane action hero, he flung himself onto the beast as it tried to sit up. His weight and its awkward hold on the ground forced it back down as he shoved the barrel of his pistol into its open mouth, firing over and over. It swatted him away like a fly, sending him reeling into a nearby stump as it sat partially upright. It leaned its head to the side and blood poured from its mouth and pooled in the dirt beside it. The monster looked at Vera with rage-filled eyes then flopped over and lay still. She allowed herself to hope it was dead as she rushed to Chuck’s side and got to her knees next to him.

Relief washed over her when she saw he was still breathing. Fresh tears wet her cheeks; she touched his with her fingertips.

The soldier walked over to her with his rifle still at the ready. “That’s one freaking crazy boyfriend you got there, sister.”

Vera chuckled through her sobs. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Jonathan

The sheriff’s station was a madhouse of chaos, frantic prep work, and shouting voices. Jonathan knew he had to establish control now before the fear, confusion, and disbelief turned those gathered in the station into a mob of angry vigilantes intent on nothing but destruction. Organization not violence would be their salvation if there was any to be had.

He hopped on top of the closest desk and screamed, “Shut up!”

The large, wide room grew quiet and all eyes turned towards him. The only sound in the room was that of the phones, which continued to ring off the hook, flooding them with calls presumably about what was going on. They told him the apocalypse had already started out there in the fringes of Jackson County. The monsters must have already crossed over from Haywood. His mind raced, trying to find the words he needed.

A voice called, “What’s going on, Sheriff?” Quickly, then the room was filled with matching questions and conversations, a cacophony of inquiry and demand.

“What do you mean ‘Bigfoot’?” someone said.

“You’re crazy, man!”

“We gotta get moving!”

“Pass me that ammo!”

“All the kids are out at that party. Who’s going to save them?”

“Stop it!” Jonathan ordered. “Look, we barely have any real facts about what’s happening, folks. Going out there halfcocked without a real plan is just going to get us all killed, if there’s any truth to what the military’s claiming.”

“Killed?” someone said.

“Who’s going to get killed?” another cried.

“No one yet,” Jonathan said, shaking his head. “And, Lord willing, no one will. Babble Creek’s gone. Wiped from the map, people. A state of emergency has been declared and the army called in.”

“The National Guard?” a man whose name Jonathan thought was Buck asked.

“No, the real army. It’s that bad. Some kind of creatures just came out of the woods and killed everyone who lived there, and now they’re coming here. Way I hear it, the initial troops sent in failed to contain whatever the things are.”

“Didn’t you say it was Bigfoot?” a young teacher from the school yelled. Jonathan knew the face but not the name.

“Yes . . . . No . . .” Jonathan’s fists clenched at his sides. “For all I really know, it’s a nasty chemical spill and a pack of bloodthirsty bears on a rampage. What matters is that something real and very lethal is coming—or by the sound of the phones, already here. We have to meet whatever it is head on with everything we’ve got and stop it before it makes it into town. We can’t do that unless we’re working together. I don’t want any heroes or antics out there, folks. Now, unless we want this town to end up like Babble Creek, everyone needs to calm themselves. Listen to Officer Kelly. She’ll divide y’all up into groups with a single leader, get your radio gear set up, and help you check your weapons if you need it. We have to do this right or it might all be over before it starts.”

The crowd appeared to take his words to heart and the room settled some.

Jonathan climbed off the top of the desk and placed a hand on Kelly’s shoulder. “Get them ready to move. We’ll head to where the kids are holding their shindig and sweep back towards town from there.”

Kelly gave him a nod and a weak attempt at a smile as he left her and entered his office. He closed the door behind him and took a deep breath. Silently, he said a prayer and hoped his efforts would be enough. Never before had he felt so ill–equipped to do his job, but someone had to try to keep this town safe and, like it or not, it was him.

A few minutes later, he rejoined the crowd in the parking lot amid a sea of pickup trucks full of armed men and the flashing lights of his own people’s patrol cars.

Pete

With only one extra clip remaining for his M-16 and no other ammo for his pistol, which he had given to the kid named Chuck, Pete frowned. His entire unit was dead. To make things worse, he was now stuck watching over two teenagers. Knowing he couldn’t just abandon them, he was screwed and had to take care of them. The girl knelt over the boy. Chuck was proving he was either totally crazy or as brave as they came when it really mattered, and Pete wasn’t sure which. Casting a glance at the giant, hair-covered corpse a few feet away, he admitted he was impressed by the kid.

Taking a step towards Chuck and the girl, he asked, “Can you move, kid?”

Chuck was conscious again, but his heroism had cost him a fractured rib or two along with a nasty bruise that covered most of his back. “Yeah,” he said, “yeah, I think so.” Chuck winced and grunted from the pain as Vera helped him to his feet.

“Good,” Pete said. “We have to get moving. That guy there” —he pointed at the large corpse of the beast— “he ain’t alone. There’s a whole tribe of creatures like him. They’re coming and Hell’s coming with them.”

“What is it?” Vera asked.

Chuck got his balance enough to stand on his own unaided.

“It’s a Sasquatch or something so close to it you might as well call it that. They wiped out the town next door. My unit was called in to contain them and clean up the carnage. The Brass underestimated them. They’re a lot smarter, or at least more cunning, than they look. They got the drop on us. I barely made it out of Babble Creek alive. As far as I know, the rest of the unit is dead.”

“Okay . . .” Vera started, but Pete interrupted her, “Your town’s next on their menu. I have to get to a phone or radio or something. Let folks know what’s happening, get some help, before we’re all dead.”

“They eat people?” Chuck’s shocked showed in his eyes.

“Yeah, they kind of do, but they have the grace to kill you first most of the time.”

“I don’t understand,” Vera said. “Where did they all come from? How could so many of them have stayed hidden for so long?”

Pete shook his head. “No idea.”

“I got this one,” Chuck said, clutching at his chest as he spoke. “I saw a movie once where a Sasquatch had some kind of mental effect on humans. It was sort of a displacement thing, but I would wager these guys have a similar type of ability. We can’t always see them. In the right circumstances, in the woods, we can be staring right at them and never know they’re there.”

“Who cares?” Vera snapped. “What are we going to do?”

“For starters, getting away from these woods would be a good idea,” Pete said. “Kid, didn’t you say you had a car?”

“No,” Chuck replied. “I said I knew where one was. Ryan has a truck.”

“Who’s Ryan?” Pete asked, annoyed. “Never mind. Forget I asked. Just tell me where the truck is.”

“The big parking area down the hill from the Falls.”

“The place everyone was hightailing it to?”

Chuck nodded.

“We’d be better off hoofing it,” Pete said. “That place is totally destroyed by now, I’m sure. Which direction is town?”

Vera pointed east.

“All right, then, keep that pistol ready, kid.”

Vera had found the gun and returned it to Chuck.

“If you have any ammo left, don’t waste it. Fire only when you really need to. We don’t need to call any more unwanted attention to ourselves than we have to. It’s time we bugged out, double time.” Pete broke into a jog towards town, hoping the kids would be able to keep up.

Matt

Matt lay in the grass. He was certain his right leg was broken. The pain was blinding every time he tried to move. All those losers who had come to see him play did this to him. He tried to run with the crowd when the crap hit the fan but someone shoved ahead of him and knocked him from his feet. The next few seconds were a blur of sneaker bottoms and boot heels as he had been trampled underfoot. Matt ground his teeth. He was the rising star of this sad little town and not just another body to be lost in the shuffle, yet had a single person stopped to help him? No. Everyone was too jealous, too full of envy. That’s what he told himself, anyway, as he struggled to rise up again and failed. He was going to be a real star with or without his band. One day they’d be sorry and he would see to it they all paid the price for what happened here tonight. The media would burn them alive and this stupid town into nothingness. He didn’t have a clue what had actually set everything off. One minute, everything was fine and he was taking a break from the stage, the next he was beaten and battered with his nose in the dirt. There were a couple of others nearby who had been stomped on like him, but none of them were moving. They were likely dead or at least hurt far worse than he was.

With a heave and a grunt, Matt managed to get himself sitting upright as something moved in the woods. He heard branches snap and break as whatever it was drew closer. A low, deep growl like that of a hungry animal came from somewhere in the trees. It sent a shiver down his spine. Was it a bear? Was that what set everyone into a panic? Keeping his gaze on the trees, his hands fumbled through his pockets, searching for his knife. Finding it, he flipped open its blade and held it so tight his knuckles went white. It was only a pocket knife but it was better than nothing.

When the beast emerged from the tree’s shadows into the moonlight, Matt felt his pants grow hot and wet as he lost control of his bladder. The monster stood an easy ten feet tall, all hulking muscle, with feral yellow eyes that gleamed with brutal fury. Fear seized him in its icy grip and he started to crawl as if he could outrun the thing on his belly. His knife slid from his hand, disappearing amid the long blades of grass, as he poured every ounce of himself into trying to escape. It wasn’ worth stopping and patting the grass to try and find it. The beast would grab him in no time. He crawled quickly, his legs objecting to every inch of movement. No matter. He absorbed the pain, had to move on.

The monster covered the distance between them before he made it more than ten feet. One of the thing’s hands latched onto him and dug into his back, its fingers sinking into his flesh. He screamed. The beast lifted his writhing form up like a toy. Matt opened his mouth to cry out in terror, but the monster’s teeth closed over his throat and his scream became a gargling whimper. His body twitched as the beast discarded him and stood chewing on the mouthful of flesh, smacking its lips as if for extra emphasis on its dominance.

Matt watched pieces of his own throat dangling from the monster’s mouth until all went dark.

Sarah

Sarah was worried about Matt as the truck bounced and limped over the gravel road leading from the Falls. She didn’t even know the names of the guy driving and the horror-stricken girl who sat between them. The rush to get to safety was so chaotic and fear-driven, she knew how blessed she was to be in a vehicle at all. Most of those who reached their cars were caught in a sea of fender benders and collisions that trapped them at the base of the Falls. They escaped, but not before they’d taken a hit to the truck’s side from some panicked blonde in a Toyota Camry.

The driver, a young man in a baseball cap, with a mouth crammed to overflowing with chewing tobacco, was drenched in sweat and doing his best not to lose control of the truck on the gravel as he kept his foot pressed on the gas. Sarah’s head banged against the passenger side window as they rounded a turn in the road; she cursed under her breath. Something large and fast slipped from the woods onto the road ahead of them. The girl beside her screamed as fresh tears streamed over her cheeks. Sarah resisted the urge to punch her in the mouth. Sobbing like a child wasn’t going to help them.

The thing’s muscle-bound, hairy legs launched the beast into the air as it leapt for the truck. It landed in the truck’s bed with such force its weight lifted the front wheels off the ground. As they came down, crunching and slinging the gravel, the boy in the cap spat out a load of tobacco juice when he lost control of the truck. The vehicle whirled across the road sideways, tossing the creature back into the trees. The boy fought to regain control, cursing and jerking the wheel as the truck careened into the bank on its right. The groan of bending metal and the cry of the girl next to her hurt Sarah’s ears as she watched a tree limb come crashing through the windshield in seemingly slow motion. It struck the girl straight through her open mouth, exiting the backside of her skull to impale the seat behind her with a wet, hot spray of blood. Sarah’s arms flew up to shield herself from the shrapnel of breaking glass. She was flung forward, but her seatbelt spared her the worst of the impact. The girl beside her was dead. There was no doubt about that. Sarah felt bile rising in her throat and instantly covered her mouth to prevent herself from vomiting. The boy was bruised, but very much alive. Blood flowed from a long gash on his forehead, but he was alert. He flung his door open to leap from the truck as the monster or another like it reached them. The palm of an ape-like hand slapped into his chest and sent him flying back inside the truck. He crashed into the seat between Sarah and the girl’s corpse. The limb impaling the girl snapped as he hit it, making the corpse’s head bobble up and down, spilling more blood onto him as he lay in the dead girl’s lap. Sarah saw the white of a broken rib sticking through his blood-soiled shirt.

Sarah was soaked in the girl’s blood, too, and sat staring at the monster outside the truck’s cab. She could only see its lower body. Praying it didn’t know she was alive, she closed her eyes and slumped in her seat. She held her breath as she felt the truck shift as if the thing was kneeling against it while it poked its head inside. She kept still as the cab shook, the creature’s putrid breath making her gag.

Sarah opened her eyes. The boy’s body was dragged from the vehicle onto the road by a giant, hair-covered hand, his corpse hitting the gravel with a dull thud. The creature’s hand was closed around one of his ankles, holding his leg up where she could see it. As the creature bent over the body, she closed her eyes again, unable to watch as she heard the sound of lips smacking while its teeth tore at the boy’s still-warm flesh.

She resumed playing dead, readying herself for her racing pulse to bring on a heart attack and the act to be over.

Jonathan

A convoy of patrol cars and pickup trucks reached the bottom of the road leading up to the Falls. Jonathan knew at once he’d made the right choice in coming here. On the way in, they had passed a stream of fleeing teenagers. He sent Kelly and a few others to help them and see them to safety. The real threat, however, was coming down the mountain towards them.

He hopped from his patrol car and directed the others to form a line across the road and the open field of the old farm behind it. He leaned into his car long enough to grab the .30-.06 that rested on the passenger seat then took his own position on the line, bracing the rifle on the car’s roof and aimed at the woods in front of him.

“Remember,” he shouted at those with him, “whatever’s coming, we have to stop it here. We won’t get another shot like this.”

The clicking of weapons being readied around him filled the night air. In total, counting his officers and the civilian volunteer and the good old boys, close to forty men stood ready to meet the hell that was coming.

Something stirred in the brush.

“Hold your fire until I give the word!” Jonathan shouted.

A teenage girl with bright purple hair dressed in a torn T-shirt and jeans came tearing from the trees as a rifle cracked and her head exploded into a wet spray of blood and bone.

“Crap!” Jonathan said, slamming a fist into the roof of his car. “I said hold your fire!”

Before he could even re-aim his own rifle, the monsters came. His order to hold had cost them their edge. The men around him froze up at the sight of the giant, angry beasts charging at them. Seven hairy behemoths snarled, flashing yellow teeth, as they sprinted towards the makeshift firing line. Through sheer force of will, Jonathan shrugged off his own shock and fear, and raised his rifle to take aim. It bucked against his shoulder as he put a high-powered round into the chest of the lead monster. It stumbled with a furious grunt of pain and rage as the other men regained their senses and a cacophony of gunfire erupted along the length of the line. The burst of sheer firepower dropped five of the monsters, but two made it through as eight more came sprinting from the depths of the woods. The larger from the two survivors of the initial wave rammed into a pickup with its shoulder, overturning the truck on top of the men cowering behind it. The other leapt onto a patrol car, crushing its hood and engine as it scrambled over it. The monster landed between two men, taking one’s head clean from his shoulders with a vicious swipe of its hand. It jerked the other man into the air by the front of his jacket and effortlessly tossed him aside.

Nowhere near as much fire met the second wave of beasts. Only two of them fell before reaching the line. Many of Jonathan’s men were in open retreat, several of them discarding or losing their weapons in the process of their flight. Jonathan’s attention was focused on his own situation as his patrol car was hoisted from the ground. Two of the beasts, working together, had it up above their heads. He watched in disbelief and terror as they flung it into a group of fleeing deputies. The car smashed down on the men and the dented pickup nearby. It blossomed into an explosion that sent Jonathan rolling into the roadside grass. He felt something warm and slick flowing from his forehead into his eyes. Blinking away the blood, he tried to get up. A heavy foot pressed against his chest and pushed him deeper into the ground. He screamed as pain coursed through him and his ribs folded inward, shredding his lungs. He stared up at the rage-filled yellow eyes of the giant that had sealed his fate.

Sarah

Sarah heard the giant, ape-like thing finish its feast and stomp away. For a long time, she remained slumped down in the truck’s seat, her eyes closed, playing dead. Gunfire coming from the bottom of the mountain finally gave her the courage to open her eyes. She hoped it meant someone out there was trying to kill the monster and was on their way to help. The poor dead girl’s body next to her still oozed a string of blood around the piece of wood that stuck out from between her lips. Sarah shoved the passenger door but it wouldn’t open. It was wedged against the bank the truck had careened into when it crashed. She pushed the girl’s corpse aside and crawled through the cab to the driver’s door. The body of the boy who’d been driving lay in the middle of the road, mutilated and partly eaten. His entire torso from neck to groin was an open mess of blood, torn intestines and skin. Sarah leaned over from the driver’s seat and vomited onto the ground. When the heaving stopped, she wiped her lips on her sleeve and took a moment to compose herself. The woods around here were quiet, but a battle was being waged below the Falls. She was at a loss as to what to do. There was no way on earth she was heading back up the mountain, but she’s wasn’t about to go running towards a firefight either. Staying put was dangerous, though. She didn’t know where the monster went or if there were others like it lurking in the shadows―and she suspected there were. If one of those monsters found her sitting alone in the truck, she was dead. She didn’t even have so much as a pocket knife to defend herself with.

Sitting on the edge of the driver’s seat, she pulled her knees up to her chest, rocking back and forth, tears cutting clean paths through the blood covering her face. Never in her life did she imagine she could feel so lost and helpless. It was easy to see some other twit feeling so, but not her. She thought of herself as a survivor and as tough as any redneck in North Carolina claimed to be. Her gaze turned to the glove box. She doubted there was anything useful in it.

As she thought about the idea of climbing over the girl’s blood-soaked corpse again to get to it, a soldier burst from the trees up the road ahead. On instinct, she ducked deeper into the cab, out of view. She peered through the cracked window as a teenager came bounding onto the road after him. Sarah gasped, unable to believe who she saw.

“Chuck!” she yelled, leaping from the cab. She ran towards them. Chuck looked as startled and surprised as she was. Sarah reached them as Vera caught up to them as well.

Chuck was hurt. Sarah noticed he held an arm to his chest and side as if trying to hold something in place inside of himself. “Sarah,” he panted in a voice so quiet she barely heard him.

The soldier gave her a look that was both appraising and regretful.

“Are you hurt?” the soldier asked coldly as he took in the blood covering her.

“No . . . I’m fine,” she said, then chuckled. “Well, I’m alive.” Sarah didn’t even bother to acknowledge Vera’s presence. Her focus stayed on Chuck and the soldier. “Some kind of monster attacked us.” She pointed at the body of the half-eaten boy laying on the road. “I played dead in the truck or it would have gotten me, too.”

“Uh, yeah . . .” Chuck said. “That thing was a Sasquatch. You know, Bigfoot? There’s a whole freaking bunch of them and they’re out for blood.”

“Bigfoot?” Sarah let the word sink into her head. “The Bigfoot?”

“We don’t have time for this,” the soldier said. “We need to keep moving.”

“Where are you headed?” she asked, knowing anywhere was better than here.

“Into town,” Vera said with a snort.

Sarah glared at the Goth whore in her ripped fishnets and dark clothes. A slut like her wasn’t worthy of her respect. She knew Vera’s home life was a wreck, but it was no excuse for her behavior and attitude. She’d had bad times herself and never fell apart like Vera. Life wasn’t fair. It was a fact and one you had to face up to and deal with regardless of the hand you were dealt. Was she being judgmental? Maybe, but at the same time there was such a thing as standards and Vera certainly didn’ t measure up to them.

“We’re trying to warn folks about what’s coming,” Chuck told her.

“I think you’re too late for that,” she said with a troubled look. “There was some kind of battle happening at the bottom of the mountain right before you got here. From the sound of things, I’d say the whole sheriff’s department and more must have met those creatures head on.”

Chuck turned to the soldier and asked, “Is that good or bad?”

“Bad,” the soldier answered. “Very bad. I would wager your sheriff got a lot more than he bargained for.” Shaking his head, he added, “Doesn’t matter. We still have to get to town. I have to get in touch with command before this nightmare spreads any further.”

Vera

The quartet of survivors made their way down the mountain with Pete in the lead. Vera walked behind the others. Sarah kept close to Chuck, helping steady him when the group’s pace became too much to handle with his injuries. Vera’s eyes were full of anger. Chuck’s saving her life woke her up to just what kind of a guy he was. He was everything that Ryan wasn’t and, it felt, an influence she needed in her life. Ryan had tried to be a good guy sometimes, but Chuck simply was one. It was who he was in his heart. She figured seducing him would be easy and he would fall heads over heels for her. Now, she’d never had a chance. Not with his “dream girl” not only still alive and kicking, but stuck with them. She bit her lip and wished the monsters had torn the stuck-up prep to shreds at the Falls. They would have been doing her and the world a favor as far as she was concerned. Despite how much she hated Sarah, Vera knew the girl was tough. Taking her in a fair fight would be impossible. Sarah worked out. Her butt was as tight as they came and her muscles were toned and sharp, which disgustingly only added to her natural beauty, every inch of her a pageant queen whether she was a tomboy or not.

Vera sighed. Her whole body ached with exhaustion and her main reason to keep going had been stolen from her.

As they reached the end of the road and the bottom of the Falls, Pete held up a hand, motioning for them to stop. Vera was grateful for the chance at a rest, but was filled with dread as to why they were doing it.

“Stay here,” Pete whispered to them.

Vera nodded, more than happy to do just that. She watched Chuck leaning onto Sarah’s shoulder and wondered if he was faking just how bad he was actually feeling so he could be close to the bimbo brunette. Chuck might be a good guy, but he was still human and male.

She stepped up beside them. “You okay?” she asked Chuck as she looked over him into Sarah’s eyes. Vera saw the challenge there as Sarah placed a hand on his shoulder. Of all the self-righteous . . . She forced her anger aside and fixed her attention on Chuck. He nodded.

“I could use some pain meds.” He tried to laugh and then grimaced, pressing his arm tighter to his chest.

Vera felt bad for him but there was nothing else she could do. “Hang in there. We’ll make it to town in no time now that we’re off the mountain.”

Pete returned, his face grim.

“What’s up?” Vera asked.

“No sign of the beasts, but it’s a mess out there. I think I just met your sheriff. Well, what’s left of him, anyway. Looks like he and a bunch of rednecks tried to make a stand. Needless to say, it didn’t go too well for them. They did manage to take out several of the monsters, though. That’s at least a half dozen less we have to worry about.”

Vera noticed he had something behind his back.

Pete grinned as he extended a set of jangling keys towards her. “The good news is that we found ourselves a ride.”

“Thank God,” Chuck exclaimed.

The keys belonged to a Jackson County patrol car. They all waded through the carnage of the battle to get to it, the sun beginning to set. Vera paused as she passed the corpse of one of the creatures. The thing smelled worse dead than it did alive, which she didn’t think was possible. Red, wet spots covering most of its body peppered its hair, but it was easy to distinguish the wound that killed the monster. Where its left eye once was a mangled mass of shredded tissue resided and a gaping exit wound oozed brain matter from its skull. She kicked it full force in the face.

“Vera!” Chuck said. “Come on!”

They made their way on through the scene of the massacre. Bodies were scattered everywhere, many of them in pieces. The remains of a burnt patrol car rested on top of a still-smoldering Chevy that glowed brightly in the twilight, while the dying flames danced and flickered, temporarily lighting up the darkening woods on either side.

Vera picked up her pace and hurried to the others. Pete slid into the driver’s seat; she got in beside him. Sarah was already in the rear of the car with Chuck. Vera slammed her door shut, jealous and frustrated.

Pete fumbled with the keys as he tried to find the right one.

Vera glared at him. “Get a move on, soldier boy.”

Finally, the car’s engine roared to life, and she smiled. The car lurched into reverse as Pete spun it around, then they gunned it towards town.

Kelly

“Jonathan, answer me!” Kelly yelled into the car radio. She gripped it so hard her knuckles were white. Deputy Mark and several gruff volunteers, along with herself, had dealt with the teenagers fleeing the Falls as best they could and sent them either home or to the hospital. Only the Lord knew how many had gotten past them, but they’d done everything they could to help as many folks as possible given the circumstances.

Kelly sent Mark on to the hospital to give them what assistance he could, and now she was left with three armed hillbillies who kept stealing glances at her breasts and bottom whenever they seemed to think she wasn’t paying attention. Them, she could handle. What she couldn’t deal with was not knowing what to do next, and Jonathan wasn’t responding. His silence was coming close to pushing her over the edge. Her feelings for the hardheaded idiot ran deeper than she would like to admit. If something happened to him out there, she would never forgive him for sending her to chase down the kids. Of course, that was only part of it. Jonathan took almost everyone worth having in a fight with him, and if whatever ripped Babble Creek apart got passed him and his men, the whole town was in trouble.

Kelly tossed the radio onto the passenger seat, cursed loudly, and thumped the steering wheel with her fist.

“Problem, Officer Brooks?” a burly man in a red flannel shirt holding a high-powered hunting rifle across his chest asked. He stood outside the open door, his two buddies snickering behind him, but at least trying to muffle their amusement.

Kelly searched her memories for the man’s name. She’d arrested him once for assault. Some kind of bar brawl, if she remembered correctly. “Simkins?” she ventured, and saw from his expression that she was correct. “Don’t think I don’t remember your record. Yeah, we’ve got a problem, a big one. I can’t raise the sheriff, which means he’s in trouble.”

Simkins shrugged. “So?”

“So,” she said, already fed up with the man, “that means there could be something wrong with his radio or he and everyone else that headed for the Falls might be dead.”

He snorted. “Ain’t nothing all those guys can’t handle in those woods.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said, “but we can’t count on it. We have to assume the worst. This town is counting on us to keep it safe and we might be all that’s left to do it.” Kelly drew her pistol and readied it for effect. Sometimes idiots like Simkins and his two buddies only understood action. She pointed at the shortest member of his little trio, a round man with a rifle that looked as big as an elephant gun in his hands. “You,” she said, “let Mark know what’s going on and then hightail it to the station. Tell whoever’s still there to put out a call for assistance to every federal and state agency they can think of, then get yourself over to the hospital. I’m sure they need every hand they can get, too. The rest of you are with me.”

“And where are we going?” Simkins asked.

“To the Falls. We have to know what’s coming at us and what happened to Jonathan and the others.”

“Uh,” Simkin’s other buddy, wearing a ratty Steelers cap, said, “that sounds pretty dangerous. I got a family at home. If it’s all hitting the fan for real, that’s where I’m headed.”

“Chicken,” Simkins said. “Man up. Our work here ain’t done.”

Kelly was impressed by Simkins’s sudden sense of civic duty; she nodded at the younger man beside him. “It’s okay. I’d do the same in your position. Go on.”

Clearly relieved, the man tipped his hat and broke into a run for his truck.

“That wasn’t too smart,” Simkins said. “We’re down two guns and we ain’t even got started yet.”

“Forget it and get in.” Kelly closed the driver’s side door and cranked up the patrol car.

Simkins shrugged and walked around the car to the passenger’s side. As he plopped in the seat next to her, he said, “Well, Officer Brooks, you got balls, I’ll give you that.”

Kelly laughed and pressed the gas pedal to the floorboard. The car’s tires spun as it peeled out to streak down the highway with its siren blazing.

Mark

Deputy Mark Johnson was overwhelmed by the magnitude of chaos around him. The ER was packed to overflowing with bruised and scraped-up teenagers, frantic nurses, and concerned and angry parents. It felt like the end of the world. He and the on-duty security guard exchanged worried glances across the large waiting room. Mark knew that a single screw up could ignite a riot of panic they would have no hope of controlling. Heck, things were already out of hand. Folks were shouting, complaining, and in some cases even openly shoving one another, but the two of them couldn’t be everywhere at once. Besides, too much force on their part could be the trigger that made things even worse. Mark longed for backup, but there was none to be had. Everyone else was either with the sheriff or Officer Brooks.

A bald man covered in tattoos plowed a path through the crowd to the triage desk with his pimply, leather-jacketed son in tow. The son’s nose was busted and the red and muddy imprint of a boot heel marked his cheek. In the process, the bald man elbowed an African American woman holding an infant in her arms and almost knocked the baby to the floor. That, Mark couldn’t ignore. He motioned for the security guard to keep his cool and let him handle it as he approached the man who screamed obscenities at the receptionist.

“Sir,” Mark cut in as he closed in on him. “I suggest you calm yourself and take a seat.”

The bald man whirled on him. Mark ducked under his swing and delivered a blow of his own to the man’s gut. He heard the breath explode from the man’s body as he crumpled over, gripping his stomach. Mark followed through with an uppercut that sent the man toppling over backwards to the tiled floor. He dropped onto him and rolled him over, snapping his handcuffs closed around the man’s wrists before he could recover.

Mark stood, dragging the man to his feet with him. The man had recovered somewhat and started raging again, but Mark held him tight. Jerking the man after him, he moved into the hallway leading deeper into the hospital proper. Once they were outside of the waiting room, Mark released him. The man pulled away, turned to face him, his body positioned as such as if to deliver another blow. In one smooth movement, Mark drew his pistol and smashed its butt into the side of the man’s head. The bald man’s eyes rolled upwards; he collapsed, unconscious at Mark’s feet. The security guard poked his head into the hallway.

“Help me get this jerk locked away somewhere, then let’s get back in there and find a way to get control of this mess before someone really gets hurt,” Mark said.

The guard hurried to help him. Before they’d taken even a dozen steps, the sound of gunfire from the ER echoed throughout the hallway. They dropped the idiot in cuffs and sprinted for the triage area. Mark made it through the door first, gun in hand. He skidded to a halt, staring in horror as a giant, hairy brute of a creature came crashing through the glass doors leading to the parking lot. Bodies and blood flew as the thing tore into the crowd. He raised his weapon, trying to get a shot at it when a middle-aged woman in a heavy, green coat bumped into him as she attempted to escape the thing’s wrath. Some idiot across the room pulled a small, fancy rifle from underneath his long trench coat and opened up at the monster. More than half his spray of fully-automatic fire cut into the crowd rather than the beast. The panic and the screaming grew louder and higher. Mark saw the guard behind him take a round in his shoulder and vanish underneath the feet of the crowd. Using the handicap railing running the length of the wall, Mark hauled himself to his feet only to be crushed against it by the pressure of the panicked mob. He felt something snap inside him and blinding pain stole his vision. As blackness covered him, he slid to the floor. He barely felt the spike of the high-heeled shoe as it rammed through his right eye like a dagger into his brain.

Pete

The beast seemed to come from nowhere as it burst from the trees onto the road, and ran alongside the patrol car. Vera screamed, but Pete tried to block out her terror. Keeping his main focus on the road ahead of him, he shot a quick glance sideways at the monster. Its legs were a blur beneath it and close enough to do some damage if given the chance. He swerved to give himself a few precious seconds to decide his next course of action. He could floor it and hope for the best, or use the car as a weapon against the thing. Both options came with heavy risks.

Pete punched it as the monster took a swing at the car. The siren light shattered and pieces of it bounced over the patrol car’s hood. The remainder of the siren light flew into the ditch on the side of the road as the car picked up more speed.

“Holy . . .” Chuck shrieked from the backseat as they pulled ahead of the monster. “That was way too close, man!”

The monster was still after them, but growing smaller in the rearview mirror. Pete agreed. “Tell me about it!”

“It can’t catch us, can it?” Sarah asked.

Pete shook his head without turning to look at her. “No. The Intel on them said they max out at forty, forty-five miles per hour. We’re doing sixty-five.”

“They’re that fast?” Vera sounded amazed. “How can something so big move like that?”

Pete gritted his teeth. The kids were really getting on his nerves. He wanted to ditch the lot of them, but that would be cold-blooded murder. Instead, he answered, “You’ve seen them. They’re all muscle under that hair of theirs. My unit made the mistake of underestimating them and disbelieving what we were told about them. If we actually took what we were told to heart, maybe all this crap wouldn’t be happening. These things are cunning enough to have stayed hidden for centuries. That fact alone should prove they’re nothing anyone in their right mind would want to tangle with.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if driving into town is our best move,” Sarah said. “Isn’t that where they will all be headed? We should turn this car around while we can. Asheville’s not too far and it’s a real city. We could get help there.”

Pete shook his head. “We’d be leaving everyone here to die. By the time we hit Asheville and got someone to believe us, this town will be gone just like Babble Creek. Like it or not, we’ve got a responsibility here and that’s all there is to it.”

He watched Sarah snuggle closer to Chuck in the rearview mirror and place her head on his shoulder, defeated. He knew she couldn’t argue his logic and whether or not she wanted to be a hero didn’t really matter. He took her for someone who wasn’t the kind to run away from a fight even if the odds were stacked against her.

Kelly

Simkins noisily chewed a mouthful of tobacco as Kelly drove. He spat a glob of juice into a cup, and looked her over again.

“Always wondered why you stayed single,” he said. “I can tell you’d be hard to handle, but you got a smoking body.”

“And you have the chance of a goat covered in pig manure,” she said in an icy, level tone. “Why was it your wife filed for divorce last year? Seems like I remember her coming by to get a restraining order.”

He laughed, long and loud. “Witch was cheating on me with some guy who worked at the salon she went to every week. I reckon you would have gotten a touch violent, too, Officer Brooks.”

“If you’re trying to hit on me, you’re doing a terrible job of it.”

Simkins grinned. “Oh baby, I’m just getting warmed up.”

Kelly took her eyes from the road long enough to shoot him a warning glare. “Even if I was dumb enough to be interested, now isn’t the time.”

“Why not? Come the morning, we might both be dead. You gotta learn to live in the moment.”

She grabbed the car’s radio again, ignoring him. “Come in, Jonathan. Are you out there, over?”

Only the radio’s crackling static answered her.

Simkins smirked. “I take it the rumors are true?”

“What rumors?”

“That you and the sheriff were sharing some off-duty fun.”

Kelly’s cheeks flashed red with anger. “Drop it or I’ll make you walk back to town.”

He threw up his hands in surrender. “Didn’t mean any offense, Officer Brooks.”

Kelly suddenly forgot all about Simkins as a ten-foot-tall, bear-like beast that walked on two legs with sinister yellow eyes stepped onto the road right in front of them. It looked as shocked as she was as the patrol car crashed into it head on. The hood folded towards her as she was sent flying forward into the steering wheel. The beast’s hoarse cry of pain was louder than the sound of the bending metal. Her seatbelt yanked her upright away from the wheel like an overstretched rubber band. She blinked and shook her head to clear it. Simkins was gone, thrown through the windshield. She couldn’t see him on the road nor did she have time to really look. A bloodstained, hairy hand broke the window next to her. Somehow the beast was still alive and had managed to pull itself around the car. It hauled itself up, its face rising to within inches of her own. She smelled its breath and gagged from the stench of blood and rotten meat.

Kelly unlatched her seatbelt as the beast tore the door from between them and flung it into the woods by the roadside. She used her feet to push herself out of her seat and into the passenger side of the car, drawing her pistol as she moved. The beast’s legs were broken and a mangled mass of red meat was beneath where it lay. Its actions were slow and pained, but it still shot an impossibly long arm into the car at her. Kelly opened fire, putting a trio of rounds into its hand. The beast recoiled from the fury of her second burst of bullets as she fumbled open the door behind her and toppled backwards onto the road. She leapt to her feet as the monster roared its frustration at her. She spotted Simkins’s crumpled and bloody corpse several yards in the distance. Kelly gave the monster another look and knew it was dying, bleeding out from its wounds, but she had no intention of sticking around to watch it do so. Running as fast as her legs would carry her, she vanished into the shadows of the woods. The beast howled after her.

She came to a halt not too far inside the treeline as the horror of what she’d seen caught up with her. Legs growing weak, she leaned into the bark of a wide tree. Her body shook with sobs, but no tears came. It was all too much. That . . . thing they’d hit couldn’t be real, but it was. Simkins was dead and likely Jonathan, too, no matter how much she didn’t want to believe it. Hell had opened its gates and spilled its demons into the world of Man. She knew the monster wasn’t really a demon, according to what Jonathan told her: it was a Sasquatch or something so close to being the legendary creature that calling it anything else felt wrong. The sight of its twisted and pulped legs combined with that of Simkins’s broken body weighed on her. The worst, though, was seeing how tough the monster was. She’d put six rounds into its hand and arm at pointblank range yet they had only given the creature pause and made it angrier. The logical side of her brain told her it was a simple matter of the beast’s muscle density and the toughness of its hide, however the whole experience was so unreal it seemed supernatural, as if God Himself was judging mankind’s mismanagement of the world and had called the monster from the woods to punish them all.

Kelly forced herself to get control of her breathing and calm down. Until Jonathan could be found, she was in charge now. The fate of the town, maybe the entire county, was in her hands. She had to be strong and get it together. Too many lives were on the line for her to freeze up from the pressure and shock.

The howls and whimpering from the road finally stopped. Kelly popped her clip and inserted a fresh one. The car was too damaged to be of any use, but its radio might still be working and she knew there was a pump-action twelve-gauge in the trunk. It was standard procedure. Summoning every ounce of courage she could muster, she turned, marching in the direction of the patrol car with a determined stride. As she cleared the trees, she saw the monster lying behind the car. It had pulled itself farther around the vehicle, likely trying to come after her.

Great, she thought. Getting into the trunk now would be all but impossible with the monster’s body in the way. Moving it was hopeless. She guessed it must weigh half a ton, maybe more.

Kelly sighed and shook her head at her continuing run of bad luck, then she gave the beast’s body a wide berth as she walked around the front of the car to the driver’s side. Her feet slipped in the pool of congealing blood pooled there. Catching herself with a hand braced on what remained of the patrol car’s hood, she caught herself and reached inside for the radio. She clicked it on, but nothing happened. It had no power. Either something had happened to the unit or the car’s battery had busted in the impact with the monster. She looked up and down the deserted road. Moving forward to continue her search for Jonathan alone and with only her single pistol would be suicide.

Her pain was catching up with her as the adrenaline in her system faded. She wiggled her chin and lifted the fingertips of her left hand to touch the growing bruise the crash had left her with. If her position had been slightly different when the patrol car collided with the monster, she would have been spitting teeth or be the bearer of a broken nose. For all she knew, her chin was fractured. It sure throbbed like it was.

Kelly checked her pistol again out of fear-induced paranoia and began her long jog to town. If there was any hope of surviving this nightmare, it lay in getting help from the National Guard, the army, or whoever she could make contact with once she reached somewhere with a working phone since her cell had been lost in the crash.

Above, the stars were covered by a growing darkness as distant flashes of lightning cut across the sky. As if she didn’t have enough problems already, it appeared a storm was on its way, and a bad one if her instincts were correct.

Derek

Derek yanked his headphones from his ears as darkness enveloped his bedroom. The screen of his monitor had gone black just like everything else when the power went out. Cursing, he flung his custom-made game controller onto his desk. He and his friends were at the last level or at least they had been. It just wasn’t fair. All that work lost because of a stinking power outage. A roll of thunder shook the house as he unplugged his laptop from the wall, hoping to save it from any further risk of damage from another power surge. The outlet he’d been using had a surge protector but he didn’t trust it. He hoped the laptop was okay. Derek didn’t have the cash to buy a new one. His boss had fired him two days ago for his perpetual tardiness and “slacking,” and his parents sure weren’t about to buy him a replacement if anything happened to it. They were too busy with their divorce and yelling at each other every chance they got.

His mom was living with his grandfather and his dad spent most nights losing himself in his work as a supervisor at the town’s paper mill. Overall, having the house at night to do whatever he wanted wasn’t a bad thing. With the power gone, though, it was already getting boring. He couldn’t game, watch his dad’s pornos, or do something as simple as fixing some pizza college-style in the microwave.

Derek flopped onto his bed and stretched across it, staring at the ceiling as his vision adjusted to the night. There was a battery-operated FM radio in the basement, but it wasn’t worth the effort bothering with it. All the stations in town either played country or hip hop at this time of night and neither was his kind of music. Maybe he should’ve gone to that big shindig tonight at the Falls after all? Of course, with the storm, he bet those folks weren’t having much fun either.

The house shook again, but this time there was no thunder, only a loud thumping noise followed by a crash. He jerked upright, puzzled, as he tried to make sense of what he’d heard.

Derek got up and walked to the window that overlooked the backyard. Something had knocked down the massive kerosene barrel that fueled the house’s heating system.

“What the devil?” he muttered, taking a line from an old movie he’d seen recently. Then he saw it moving across the lawn below.

The beast, though slumped, stood over seven feet tall. Strength radiated from its thick legs and arms. The thing clutched its shoulder as it stumbled around the corner of the house and disappeared from view. Derek figured it was hurt.

“Oh man, oh man, oh man.” Sweat beaded on his forehead. Frantically, he tried to remember if he had locked all the doors downstairs. It was a foolish worry. No door would stop it if that thing really wanted to get inside. He could easily envision the beast turning the wooden door to toothpicks, if it wanted to. His mind raced as he dug in his pocket for his cell. He flipped it open. Derek knew he had forgotten to pay the bill again as soon as he saw the status on its screen. The faint tugging of a memory assured him that 9-1-1 was still supposed to work. He dialed the numbers. A computerized voice informed him that all circuits were busy at this time and asked if he would like try his call again later or have it keep trying for him. It was weird. Cells didn’t work like that. The screw up had to be at the number he’d dialed, and that was very bad. If the cops were predisposed . . .

His dad kept a rifle tucked away for hunting season in his closest. Derek sprang from his room, banging his knee on his desk in the process. A muffled cry of pain leaked from his lips. Outside, somehow the thing must have either heard his movement or his grunt because it roared in response.

“Crap!” Derek shouted, running for his dad’s room. He slammed the door behind him and he hurried to the closet. Wood splintered and the noise of things being thrown about below on the first floor drove him to move faster. He tossed clothes and boots aside until his fingers closed around the cold metal of the rifle’s barrel. He yanked it up to his shoulder, prayed it was loaded, and readied its bolt. He sighed in relief, knowing he had at least one shot ready if he needed it.

Like an explosion of thunder, the bedroom door and parts of the wall around it exploded inward into the room. The beast charged him, its head destroying the ceiling tiles as it scraped along and through them. Derek squeezed the trigger. A hollow click thundered in his ears as he stared death in its raging, yellow eyes. A giant hand closed over his arm, breaking it simply from the pressure of its grip. Derek yelled for help as the monster pulled him from the floor. Another hand met his face, shoving his head backwards until his spine gave way and his existence ended with the loud snap of cracking bone.

April

April was overjoyed because of the power outage. It meant she could go home without having to do all the nightly cleaning she normally did in the diner’s kitchen. She hated dealing with the grease on the grill and the fryer unit. Since she couldn’t clean them without light and running water, the boss couldn’t yell at her for leaving it all until the morning. Besides, the rumors that were flying around tonight when they had been open gave her the chills. Everyone was on edge and many of the nightly regulars hadn’t shown up at all. From what she’d heard, there was some kind of trouble at the Falls and the sheriff took all of the rest of the staff and volunteers with him as backup. Anything bad enough to convince a sheriff like Jonathan to let good old boys with shotguns go along for the ride was certainly more than enough reason to be concerned. April didn’t know the specifics of what was happening on the mountain, but she was heading home with plans to stay there until the sun was shining and the power was fixed. Usually, it didn’t take the crews too long. Her apartment was close to the hospital so the area in which she lived took priority simply because of the grid it was on.

With one of the diner’s emergency flashlights in hand, she donned her purse, slinging it onto her shoulder by its strap, and stepped outside into the light drizzle of rain that had started to fall. Lightning danced above her as she locked the diner’s main door and slipped her keys in her pocket. The parking lot was barren except for her rusty and ancient Outback. One day she swore she would finally give in and upgrade for a new one, but money was tight and there never seemed to be any at the end of the month to tuck away for it. Her Outback ran smoothly, however, and didn’t give her many problems. That was all that really mattered. She was in her thirties now and too old to worry about being cool and in style.

April started walking to her Outback when something huge and covered head-to-toe in mangy brown hair came bounding through the fence that separated the lot from the neighboring playground on the school’s property next door. The beast knocked an entire section of the fence to the ground with apparent ease, stopped, and stood there staring at her. Her heart skipped a beat then began beating like a hummingbird’s wings. By the grace of God, she managed not to scream, and instead froze at a complete loss as to what to do. The mace she kept in her purse wasn’t going to save her. Even if she got into range of the beast it would likely only anger it. There was no hope of digging it out of the purse in time to be useful anyway.

The beast’s nostrils flared as it sniffed the air and she got a good look at its face as a flash of lightning lit the lot. The hair that should have been there was gone along with a good portion of its flesh. Something had badly burnt the its face. With a start, April realized it was blind. That fact was all that had probably saved her so far. She wondered if it could hear her breathing. She held her breath and didn’t so much as flinch as it lumbered in her direction. It smelled the air, as if sensing her. She didn’t know if it knew of her presence.

Jumpstarting into a panic, April didn’t dare wait for the monster to get any closer; she spun and ran for the diner. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw the beast charging after her. She knew she didn't have time to dig for her keys or try to open the door. With a loud crash, the glass of the front window shattered as she ran into it. Shards of glass flew ahead of her and were waiting as she struck the interior floor. April screamed as a larger one completely pierced her palm, its tip emerging from the backside of her hand. Others cut slashes over her knees and legs as she clamored to her feet. Her purse was gone, lost somewhere in the glass and darkness as she plowed passed the diner’s counter to the kitchen.

The freezer, she thought, I can hide in it.

She was in the process of tugging open its heavy, metal door when the monster found her. Blindly, it lashed out, knocking the door from her hands and sending her sprawling in the opposite direction of the sanctuary she had hoped to reach. April screamed again, knowing doing so she was sealing her fate. She couldn’t help it. A hairy hand latched onto her chest, its fingers sinking into her flesh from their brute strength. Her screams grew louder. The monster tried to pull her closer as she fought to get free of its hold. In a fury, its claws ripped away her right breast and shattered the ribs beneath. April tasted the hot, salty flavor of her own blood as it rose up in her throat. She tried to move, but found she couldn’t. The pain was like a hot element inside her chest. She lay still as the monster lowered itself to its knees beside her. It sniffed at her wounds as if savoring the smell of her blood, then it dug into the flesh of her stomach and jerked a mass of intestines and meat.

April realized she’d stopped breathing as she watched the monster chewing on the flesh.

Everything grew cold, growing deeper, darker, stretching into forever.

Greg

Greg cowered deeper into the seat of the truck, hoping the monster didn’t see him. Everyone at the gas station was dead. The body of the woman in an expensive-looking business suit was smeared over the concrete of the parking lot beside her car. She’d died first and fast as the monster came running from the woods behind the place. The attendant, who had been trying to explain to her there wasn’t any power to make the pumps work and she couldn’t get any gas no matter how much she complained, died second as he tried to run from the beast. The top half of his body lay several feet from what remained of the woman. His lower half and legs weren’t in Greg’s field of view. The last to die was the man who Greg figured was the station’s shift manager. He’d swung open the station’s door and came out carrying a pump-action twelve-gauge. The beast spotted him and bounded across the lot towards him. The man got off a single shot before it grabbed the weapon from his hands and took his arm with it in the process. Screaming, the man died as the monster leaned in and sunk its teeth into his skull with a wet crunch. Greg didn’t know if the man’s single shot had hit the thing or not. If so, the beast showed no sign of being hurt. It stood, with smacking lips, gnawing on the man’s head and face one a bite at a time.

Eventually, Greg hoped, the beast would finish and move on, but he knew he wasn’t safe in the truck. His keys were somewhere out there on the ground where he’d lost them when he hopped into the vehicle. If he had them, he wondered if he would really be brave enough to crank the truck and make a run for it.

He kept a fully-loaded .38 in his glove box. He eased over and retrieved it, checked its chamber. Six rounds stared back at him. Flipping it shut, his thumb eased back the gun’s hammer. He turned to check on the beast. Its fist came through the driver’s side window. He ducked for his life. Glass sprayed over him as fat, groping fingers narrowly missed his neck. He rolled up into the truck’s seat with his back pressed against the passenger door, and with both hands raised the .38 revolver at the monster. With a seemingly effortlessly display of strength and pure power, it jerked the driver’s door from the truck and flung it into the night. The revolver’s barrel flashed as Greg squeezed the trigger. The bullet drew blood as it smacked into the beast’s chest, but barely enough to speak of. Bending over to get at him, the beast didn’t even seem to notice it’d been shot. The monster closed its fingers around his ankle, broke it with a violent snap, and jerked him closer, sinking its yellow, blood-stained teeth into his groin. Greg wailed, emptying the pistol point-blank into its skull as it munched on his thighs and the area between.

Greg’s pain-filled, high-pitched screams quickly peaked and then fell silent.

Pete

The parking lot outside the sheriff’s station only contained two older patrol cars and a broken-down pickup truck, with its hood propped up as if someone had been recently working on it. Pete slowed, turning into the lot. He drove straight to the main entrance, coming to a stop below the short set of stairs leading up to it. There was no sign of activity or anyone around, but the truly unnerving part was the interior of the station appeared to be as dark as the lot outside it. The twin beams of his car’s headlights cut eerily through the shadows like knives. Pete killed the engine as Vera fidgeted in the passenger seat next to him.

“You would think they’d have a generator,” Chuck said from behind them where Sarah still held him close.

“They do,” Pete said, “or at least they’re supposed to. The question is, why isn’t it running?”

“I don’t think I want to find out,” Vera muttered so quietly Pete barely heard her. He glanced at her; his own dread and fears were reflected in her eyes.

“If your gut tells you it’s too dangerous, we can always head to the hospital,” Sarah said.

Pete opened his door and stepped from the car and leaned over its roof to get a better look at the main doors. No sign of battle marked them. There were no telltale bullet holes, smeared blood, or anything else beyond the simple darkness present inside to warn them away. Nonetheless, his instincts told him not to try for the radio and phones he knew waited inside the place.

Chuck leaned through the rear door’s window. “Well?”

Pete frowned and reached for his M-16. “You guys stay here,” he said, tossing the keys to Vera. “And keep the car running. Give me ten. Either I’ll be back or . . .” He didn’t want to finish.

He disengaged the rifle’s safety and walked around the car, and headed for the steps leading into the station.

“Be careful,” Chuck said.

Pete didn’t answer. The doors were unlocked so he let himself in. Unlike some offices he’d seen, this one’s doors opened directly into its hub. A check-in station was to his right and a wide area of unmanned desks stretched out in front of him. There were several enclosed work areas, like mini-offices, that spotted the large room.

Strange, he thought, surely they would have had someone stay behind to man the station. Never mind. Whoever was left probably took off in a panic. He saw an enclosed section of the room that he hoped was the dispatchers’ area. He crept towards it, his rifle held ready for the first sign of trouble, pausing only to try a few phones as he passed them. They were all dead.

Reaching the door to the dispatchers’ area, he knocked on it before testing the doorknob to see if it was locked. As he did, a gun boomed and a chunk of the door exploded outward in splinters. Pete dropped to the floor as three more shots tore through the door. He slid to the side of the doorway, keeping his head down.

“Hold your fire!” he yelled.

Only silence answered him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he warned whoever was inside, “but I need to get in that room. Answer me!”

“Who are you?” a terrified and female voice demanded.

Pete sighed, wondering if he’d ever catch a break in this town. “My name is Pete Richland. I am a member of the special ops unit that was deployed in Babble Creek. I am not here to hurt you. I just want to use the comm. gear you have in there.”

“It’s not working,” the woman said. “Nothing is.” After a pause, she asked, “Is this the end of the world?”

“No, ma’am. It’s not,” he said. “At least, I hope it isn’t, but we and this whole town are in a lot of danger. This area is under attack by creatures that seem to actually be Sasquatches.”

The sound of more movement came from within the office. The shot-up door opened to reveal a strikingly attractive, blonde-haired woman in her early thirties with deep, blue eyes. She clutched a massive .44 magnum in her trembling hands. Without warning, she released the weapon, making Pete jump back with a jolt. It clattered to the floor at her feet with a thud. Tears streamed over the soft curves of her cheeks.

He got to his feet, resisting the urge to take her into his arms and comfort her. She had just tried to kill him, he reminded himself. “It’s going to be okay,” he said in a soft, calm tone.

The woman shook her head. “No, it’s not.”

The honesty of her statement struck him hard like a slap across the face. “What’s your name?”

“Stephanie. Stephanie Buckley.”

“Well, Ms. Buckley, do you mind if I try to raise some help on your equipment?”

“Help yourself,” she said, slumping into a chair at a nearby desk. “But none of it works. I’ve been a dispatcher here for nearly six years. My father was the sheriff before he retired. I’ve tried everything I know how to do and a few tricks I likely shouldn’t have, but it’s all just dead . . . totally dead.”

Pete darted into the dispatchers’ area anyway, checking things out for himself. “What happened here?” he called back over his shoulder as he saw the woman was right. He noticed where she had attempted to fix the equipment and knew she’d done all anyone could have.

“The sheriff took everyone with him to the Falls except for me and Deputy James. He wanted out, too, after the others. I don’t remember if he was answering a call we got before everything crashed or if he went to the hospital to try and help out over there. Last I heard, they were under attack.”

“Come on,” Pete said, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her out of the chair. “I’ve got a car and some kids with me. We’re heading to the hospital next. Coming with us will be a lot safer than staying here alone.”

He paused to let Stephanie retrieve her weapon from where it lay on the floor before leading her from the station. They needed every gun they could get.

Kelly

Kelly kept her fear under a tight rein. Maintaining a level head and thinking rationally were her only advantages over the beasts. She could be scared and cry her eyes out for those lost later. She steeled her heart, forcing herself to be as cold and tough as steel.

The rain soaked her to the bone and her hair was slicked to her scalp. Kelly splashed through the growing puddles, trying to maintain her hurried pace despite her exhaustion. So far, her luck held and not a single one of the monsters had showed itself. She thanked God for that. Her pistol was next to useless against the beasts and the clip inside it was her last. Somewhere along the way, she had altered her course, changing direction to make for the hospital instead of heading directly into town. It was her best hope of finding help. Deputy Mark, at the very least, should be there waiting for her.

Kelly rounded a turn in the road. The BP station on the very edge of town came into view. Instantly, she knew the situation was worse than she’d feared. The power was out and the only light around the gas station came from the headlights of a truck parked in the lot across from the pumps. Several crumpled forms lay scattered around the station’s lot and the glass doors leading inside it were shattered as if something massive had plowed through them.

She stopped in her tracks, her heart catching in her chest. If one or more of the beasts were still here, she wasn’t about to attempt just jogging on by in plain sight. She turned towards the trees and took cover, squatting behind a thick trunk. Sure enough, something was moving inside the gas station. She squinted, straining her eyes, and saw an impossibly large figure near the rear wall. If it noticed her in turn, it gave no sign of it. The beast appeared to be wandering around, sniffing and picking at the contents of the station’s grocery section, making a mess of the shelves and aisles. Keeping low, she retreated further into the trees.

From the looks of things, everyone who had been at the station when the beast came was dead, and if they weren’t, there was nothing she could do to help them.

When she was sure she was out of its line of sight, Kelly backed up a bit more to be safe, then continued on. There were no lights in the distance at all, meaning the power was likely down everywhere else in town, too. She took in her surroundings, trying to figure out exactly where she was, and estimated that the hospital was less than two miles away.

Kelly wondered if the woods were now safer than the roads and streets. Betting that they were and the creatures were out hunting, she kept to the trees as she doubled her pace, gritting her teeth and promising herself she wouldn’t stop until she reached her goal.

Adam

Adam staggered from the stairwell, bleeding and hurting. Scores of tiny cuts covered his face and hands. He’d barely escaped the massacre in the ER two floors below after being hurled head first into a vending machine by one of the beasts. When he had come to, he was surrounded by a sea of broken and mangled corpses. The beasts were gone, but were probably not far, judging by their heavy footfalls heard from the parking lot outside the ER. Not trusting the first floor to be clear of the things, he hightailed it for the stairwell. There was something wrong with the hospital’s lights, as if they were now running on some kind emergency backup generator. The ones that were still on were dimmer and scattered along the ceiling, casting a creepy red glow over the hallways and corridors. Were the elevators still working? He wasn’t willing chance it.

Adam dragged himself to the third floor before the pain became too much to handle. He slumped against the stairwell door after it shut behind him. A large shard of glass was embedded under the skin of his left arm and he was afraid he might be bleeding to death from the wound. Dizzy and weak, he grunted against the pain and tried to pull it out. There was so much blood on him, but it wasn’t all his own. Leaning sideways, Adam opened his mouth and vomited onto the tiled flooring. The hallway seemed to whirl and spin around him as he fought down a second wave of sickness. He sat still until it passed. Only then did he realize he was utterly alone.

The nurse’s station at the end of the floor was empty. Everything was quiet and still. Despite how much it hurt to move, he crawled towards it. As he got closer, he saw the blood smearing the wall behind it and an unmoving foot protruding from the bottom edge of the station’s counter. The beasts were up here, too, or at least they had been. He scurried forward, ducking into the closest room and quietly closed its door. Adam stifled a scream as he saw the corpse in the room’s single bed. An elderly and wrinkled body with no head rested in a pool of crimson between its sheets.

The sound of heavy footfalls in the hallway told him one of the beasts was coming. Whether it just wanted the rest of its meal or it had heard him, he didn’t know. He stared at the corpse as the footfalls drew closer. Adam promised himself he wouldn’t die like that. Snatching up a chair from beside the bed, he smashed the room’s window. Tossing the chair aside, he trudged toward it as the beast ripped through the closed door and lunged into the room with him. He heard it snarl as he hurled himself into the darkness. The sidewalk below came at him fast as his last thought was of his wife who lay dead somewhere in the ER below.

Chuck

Chuck, Sarah and Vera waited in the stolen patrol car for Pete to return. His time was almost up. Vera slid into the driver’s seat, with the keys Pete had given her. Chuck noticed something moving in the shadows at the edge of the parking lot.

“Don’t start the car,” he said in a frantic whisper, leaning forward.

At that moment, Pete and a blonde-haired woman came bursting from the sheriff station.

Chuck watched as the beast spotted them and came roaring from the trees. “Oh crap!” The creature’s muscles rippled under its thick hair. Its legs pumped in a blur beneath it, hurling itself towards the car like a freight train. Pete raised his rifle and the sound of gunfire echoed in the night. Chuck saw the creature stumble as Pete scored an insanely lucky hit to one of its eyes. The beast paused, stunned, and reared its huge head back in a mighty roar of anger and pain.

Pete slid into the passenger seat, jerking the woman with him into his lap. He slammed shut the door.

“Go!” Chuck shouted, slapping the back of Vera’s seat. The car spun out as she floored the gas, leaving tire marks on the pavement behind it despite the rain; it didn’t make it far.

“Down!” Pete yelled.

Chuck grabbed Sarah and tugged her to the floor with him. The rear window blew out as Pete’s rifle chattered again and the beast sank its fingers into the metal of the car, straining to hold it in place. The car lurched as the monster refused to let go. A hot shell casing bounced off the top of Chuck’s hand. He cursed and flung it off just as the car tore free of the beast’s grasp.

“Go! Go! Go!” Pete yelled at Vera.

Seeing Pete had lowered his rifle, Chuck sat up, brushing the aside the shattered glass of the rear window which now covered the back seat of the car. The beast was still coming after them, but it was losing ground as Vera continued to accelerate. Only when the car hit the main road and it was clear the beast wasn’t going to overtake them did Chuck start breathing again. He almost wished he hadn’t. His chest felt like it was on fire and his broken ribs continued to stab him with each breath he took.

“I’m getting bloody sick of these near death experiences,” he said. “Enough’s enough already. Let’s get the heck out of this town and not come back!”

“Calm down,” Sarah said. “You’re alive. A lot of folks around these parts aren’t anymore.”

“I’m not gonna be either if we keep just running around, looking for help. You still haven’t contacted your superiors, right?” Chuck asked Pete. Pete nodded. “And we need some freakin’ bigger guns. Why don’t we just make a run for Babble Creek? Every bloody thing we need is there and the creatures likely won’t be anymore.”

Pete looked on the verge of exploding at him, but then he suddenly broke into a smile. “You know what, kid? You might just be right.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Sarah said.

“Of course it is.” Chuck laughed, holding an arm to his ribs against the pain. “I just wish I’d thought of it sooner.”

Kelly

Kelly was still a good distance from the hospital as she noticed the flames. Rain or not, the place was burning. The fire licked at the dark, cloudy sky above it.

So much for that plan, she thought. She stood among the trees beside the road leading to the hospital, shivering in her drenched clothes. The rain showed no sign of slacking; if anything, it was picking up.

Kelly spotted a house across the road from her. A shiny, red sports car sat parked in its driveway. Desperation drove her to sprint for the house. It offered a much needed place to rest and collect herself. Its front door was not only smashed in, but so was most of the wall around it. Whoever had lived here was dead. She would bet her bottom dollar on it. The driveway’s gravel crunched under the soles of her boots as she turned and headed for the car. It was too dangerous to risk going in. Thankfully, the car was unlocked. Tugging open the driver’s door, she took a breath then got inside.

Her brother was her polar opposite. Jake grew up getting in trouble and on the wrong side of the law. Some of it he brought on himself, but the rest just seemed to find him. His addiction to drugs, the thrill of petty crime and violence was part of the reason she chose law enforcement as a career. Her dad had looked to Jake to follow in his footsteps, but Jake dropped the ball and she stepped up to fill the void. Kelly saw a deep-set darkness in her brother so set her own course for the light, making her father proud. Still, growing up with Jake had its uses. She yanked the wires loose beneath the sports car’s steering wheel and went to work. It took a few gos at it, but eventually the car started up. She cranked up its heater and threw it into reverse, tearing out of the driveway.

Kelly burst into laughter as she hit the road and noticed the cell phone apparently forgotten or discarded on the passenger’s seat beside her. Freak luck? She’d take it! Snatching it up, she flipped it open. It had three bars and, thank God, appeared to be working. She dialed the sheriff station first, but was met with a recorded voice telling her the number she was trying to reach was experiencing technical issues. The hospital proved the same. Jonathan didn’t own a cell or she would have tried him, too, in the hopes he was still alive and out there somewhere. Her frustration growing, she dialed the Asheville Police Department. She smiled as the number worked, but the smile fell from her lips as a frantic and frightened voice answered.

“Oh, thank God,” the woman on the other end exclaimed. “Please! You’ve got to come help us!”

Kelly’s professional side took over. “Whoa. Calm down. Who is this?”

“My name is Brook. Please, you have to come.”

“Is this the Asheville Police Department?” Kelly forced her voice to sound as controlled and steady as she could muster.

“Yes,” Brook said. “We came here because we thought it would be safe, but it’s not. Everyone’s dead. Everyone. One of those ape things took Jerry. It pulled him through the window into the street. I ran . . . I ran and hid in this room with all the phones. “

“Ape thing?” Kelly knew what she meant, but was shocked this woman even survived.

“The monsters. They’re everywhere. Haven’t you seen them on the news? They’re all over the South, attacking cities and towns, killing everyone they find.”

Kelly’s heart sank as her hope of help died within her. “Listen,” she said, “stay where you are and keep quiet. Hiding is the only thing that’s going to keep you alive.”

“You’re coming, aren’t you?”

“No . . . I’m sorry,” she said and closed the phone.

Fresh tears sprang up in her eyes. She wiped them away with the backside side of her hand and tried to focus on the road as the windshield wipers swooshed back and forth, fighting the rain. She clicked the car’s headlights over to high beams. Between the blackness of the night and the downpour, her field of visibility was extremely limited. Kelly tried not to think about what just happened. Maybe it was the end of the world after all? The woman said the beasts were everywhere across the South and they were certainly in Asheville. Her heart broke for the poor woman. Whatever happened in Babble Creek had started a full-on war with a species that had stayed hidden in the mountains, hills, woods, and caves for centuries. It was a war the beasts couldn’t hope to win in the long run given mankind’s numbers and technology, but the opening battle was theirs thanks to surprise and disbelief on humanity’s part. How many would die in the South before the tide turned and order was restored? Kelly felt sick. It was all so insane, but that didn’t make it any less real. Like Babble Creek, her town was lost. She wasn’t a superhero, just a woman with a badge. All she could do was try to stay alive and ride out the storm of death and destruction that raged around her. But the odds were not in her favor and she knew it.

Defeated, she turned onto Balsam Drive and headed home. She kept a stash of firepower in her trailer, and if she was about to die, she was at least planning to take some of the hairy buggers with her.

Pete

Vera brought the patrol car to a stop at the end of Main Street. Pete was impressed by her courage. Ahead of them, the town was a warzone. Some people were still alive and desperately trying to stay that way, but most of those they saw were dead, their corpses littering the sidewalks and roadway. He counted over a dozen of the huge creatures. Some gave chase to the fleeing residents left alive, others merely wandered about from one corpse to the next, sometimes pausing to tear away an arm or leg from a body to gnaw on. One of the largest creatures pushed over an empty minivan. Its alarm system shrieked and wailed as the beast pounded it with balled-up fists, denting and rending the metal, trying to silence it. Stephanie sat in the backseat with Chuck and Sarah, gawking at the carnage outside the car ahead of them. The unlikely couple of the horror geek and the beauty queen/tomboy kept a tight hold on each other.

“Um . . .” Vera glanced at him.

Pete saw in her eyes she was unsure whether to try and make it through the chaos or turn the car around. He nodded. “We go through. Circling around would take a lot longer and might put us in an even more dangerous position.”

“You sure?” she asked. Her skin was pale and covered in sweat.

“The sooner we get this over with, the better,” he said. So far none of the beasts seemed to have noticed them and the car, or care if they had. There was easier prey and meat to be had in the streets.

“Just hit the gas and don’t let up until we’re clear,” Pete said.

As Vera floored the gas, he cocked the .44 Magnum and clutched the car’s armrest for dear life. He had convinced Stephanie to let him carry the high-powered pistol for now as it was the only weapon the group had that would do real damage to the beasts with a single shot. Pete felt sorry for Chuck and the others in the backseat because this was going to be rough.

The patrol car howled into the chaos, picking up speed. Stephanie screamed as Vera jerked the car hard to the right to dodge the battered remains of a pickup truck that sat in the middle of the road, with a dead man in a flannel jacket sprawled halfway out of its bed. The man’s stomach was ripped open and a red mass of mangled strands of meat swung in the wind and rain above the asphalt. Pete worried Vera was about to lose control of the car on the slick road as she swung the steering wheel hard to the left to avoid the large Sasquatch that had lost interest in the minivan. The beast came thundering towards them. He put a round into its kneecap, sending it rolling on the road, a victim of its own momentum. Pete whirled around to see a one of the huge, hairy monsters yank a street sign free from the sidewalk. With a demonic howl, it hurled the sign like a spear.

Chuck cried out in pain.

“No!” Sarah screamed behind him.

Pete craned his neck to get a look at what happened. Blood bubbled from Chuck’s mouth as he tried to speak. His head slumped forward as Sarah struggled to help him. The street sign pierced the car, sticking into his side as she fought vainly to tear it free from his body.

“He’s dead,” Pete said coldly. Sarah shot him a glance full of anger and sharp hatred.

“Pete!” Vera shouted. They were nearing the end of Main Street, but two of the beasts were moving to block their escape.

“Dang it!” Pete leaned through the window, doing his best to steady his aim as he popped off a trio of shots at the creatures. His first missed completely. His second flew into the closest of the beast’s forehead. It dropped instantly from the high-powered round, reducing its brain to pulp inside its skull. The third round struck the other creature’s shoulder. It released a startled yelp and backed off, clearing their path out of town. None of the things came after them as the patrol car sped on into the darkness. When the things were out of sight and a safe distance behind them, Vera started to slow the car. Pete placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head.

“But Chuck . . .” Vera said.

“Chuck’s gone. I’m sorry, but right now, keep your foot on the pedal. We’ve got a long way to go.” With each of Sarah’s wailing sobs, Pete felt his heart break for her a little more, but in war sometimes people died. Sometimes you didn't see it coming, but it didn’t make it any less true. This was a war and he was a solider with a mission to finish. Babble Creek was waiting. There was no time to waste on the dead if there was any chance they could get help and end this nightmare before it got even worse than it already was.

Sarah was a trooper, too, he told himself. She could handle this like she had everything else so far. He was counting on it.

Kelly

Kelly drove up the narrow road leading to her trailer. Parking as close as she could, she hopped from the car to the ground, pistol ready, and made a dart for the porch. She fished around in her pocket for her keys, found them, unlocked the door, and swung it open. She tried the light switch when she entered, but as expected, there was no power. It didn’t matter. She kept a flashlight in the kitchen and another in her bedroom. The kitchen was closer so she retrieved the one there. As soon as it was turned on, she staggered, exhausted, through the trailer to her bed. Retrieving a .30-.06, an AR-14, and a pump-action shotgun from her closet, she tossed them onto the bed and began to load each of them in turn. After loading each one, she propped them in a row against the side of her bed. Two extra clips for her handgun were among the ammo she placed on her nightstand, within easy reach. She shouldered the .30-.06 and pulled its bolt-action lever, chambering a round. The high-powered rifle was the best of what she owned. Sitting it back into place, she collapsed onto the bed. If the beasts came, she was as prepared as she could be. Kelly wanted to go after them, but first, she needed rest. Her body had been pushed too hard for too long already.

She sprawled onto the bed and stared up the ceiling, thinking about what the girl on the phone had told her. Surely the military knew what was happening here by now. The girl told her of the carnage in Asheville had at least been televised. Where were the freaking tanks? Where were the soldiers with their automatic weapons and high-tech gear? Had the government abandoned them, throwing up defensive lines around the areas being attacked to keep the monsters contained until they could be dealt with? She couldn’t imagine them capable of sentencing so many folks to death. That wasn’t what this country was supposed to stand for. You didn’t just write off the minority to save the rest.

Finally, she allowed her eyelids to close and a troubled sleep claimed her. She dreamed of a world where the dead rose to take vengeance on the living.

Vera

The car’s engine sputtered and died. The vehicle limped a few more yards down the road before coming to a stop. Vera cursed and pummeled the steering wheel in a fit of rage. Pete’s expression told her he thought she had lost it. And so what if she had? Ryan was dead. Chuck was dead after saving her life. Even her rat bastard of a father was likely dead and rotting somewhere. Her life was far from a happy one, but at least it was “normal” enough for this messed up modern world. But now, the monsters changed all that. Hell had been unleashed and she was trapped in the middle of it.

“Well, that’s that,” Pete said, giving the dash a thumb. “Guess we walk from here.”

Vera resisted the urge to gouge his eyes from his head with her sharp, midnight black fingernails.

II

Pete

Pete got out of the patrol car and moved around to inspect the damage where the street sign punctured its side. His best guess told him it had cut the fuel line somehow, but it was just a guess. He wasn’t a mechanic. The very bottom of the door near the tank dripped blood from where Chuck’s corpse sat in the backseat. Sarah had given up trying to pull Chuck’s body free of the sign that impaled it. There was no point anymore. He was dead and she’d finally realized that fact.

Pete noticed her slip from the backseat and disappear into the trees along the side of the road. If she wanted some time alone to come to terms with Chuck’s sudden and unexpected death, so be it. He just hoped she didn’t wander far.

Vera moved from the driver’s seat and stood behind him as he knelt inspecting the damage to the car.

“I’m done,” she said flatly.

He glanced up at her. “What?”

“You heard me. I’m done. I’m not playing hero anymore. I don’t give a crap about your duty or trying to save people I don’t even know. Chuck’s dead because you dragged us along with you. I’ve had enough and I’m going home.”

“I didn’t drag you along. I never asked to be stuck with any of you, but I couldn’t leave you to die, could I?” he said, trying to keep his cool. “I’m sorry. None of this should even be happening.” Pete started to stand up, bracing himself by putting a hand inside the rear window of the car to support his weight, careful not to cut himself on the broken glass. Chuck’s body shifted as the car rocked.

“Don’t you touch him!” Vera shouted. “You don’t have the right!”

Pete backed off as she moved in and reached into the car’s backseat to prop Chuck up again. Chuck’s eyes shot open. Pete stared in disbelief as Chuck raised a bloodstained hand to take Vera’s. She gasped as his fingers closed around her hand.

“Ah, Chuck,” she gushed, a smile splitting her lips, “you’re alive!”

Quickly, Chuck yanked her hand to his mouth and bit into it. Blood spurted from between his teeth as her excitement quickly turned to fear and she went pale. Pete grabbed her from behind and yanked her away from the supposed-dead man. Vera clutched her injured, bleeding hand to her breasts, groaning from the pain. Together, they stared at Chuck.

“What the devil?” Pete said.

Chuck’s teeth continued to grind the flesh he’d taken from her hand as his dull, lifeless eyes stared back at them. Then it appeared Chuck noticed the street sign sticking through him and began shoving against it, trying to get free. The dead boy shifted his weight, and with no indication of feeling any pain at all, Chuck began to twist it inside of himself as if in an effort to widen the hole where it pierced him and make it large enough so he could pull it out.

Sarah emerged from the woods and came into view. “Shoot it,” she said.

Pete blinked, caught off guard by her cold words.

“Haven’t you ever seen a zombie movie before?” she asked as Chuck began to moan.

Pete didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You can’t be serious. Zombies aren’t real.”

“And neither is Bigfoot,” Sarah said. “Go on and do it before he gets loose. You don’t want to give him a chance to get at you.”

Stephanie, who’d leapt from the car’s backseat the second Chuck had started moving, said nothing as Pete looked at her for guidance on how to handle the upset young girl who had clearly lost her mind. She appeared as terrified and as confused as he felt. He tossed Stephanie her .44, not wanting to waste what little ammo they had for the powerful handgun on this mess, and drew his 9mm. Chuck moaned again as Pete raised the pistol, pointing it at him. Suddenly, Chuck popped free from the sign impaling him, spilling strands of his intestines onto the road below him. He shoved the car’s door open and staggered out of the backseat. Pete’s 9mm cracked over and over again as he put round after round into the undead creature that came barreling towards him with a hungry snarl. The bullets tore into Chuck, splattering blood into the air. It didn’t stop him. The teenage boy slammed into Pete, taking them both to the ground. Chuck’s teeth snapped at him as he managed to get an arm under the dead boy’s chin and keep his head just out of reach of his face. His training kicking in, he flipped Chuck to his back and rolled over onto him, pinning him to the road. Pete yanked his combat knife from the sheath in his boot and rammed the blade into Chuck’s skull. He gave it a twist for good measure. The dead boy lay still, apparently truly dead this time.

“See?” Sarah said. “You have to destroy their brain if you want to stop them. Chuck told me that once. He loved zombies. Chuck always hoped they would be what brought down the world if it had to end.”

Pete could only stare at her. In her eyes, he could see the girl she'd been was gone, replaced by someone as cold and hard as the worst burnt out soldiers he'd ever served with. He had no idea how to respond to what she’d just said and was still processing his own actions.

General Walters

General Walters was in over his head and he knew it. He sat at one of the stations inside the heavily-armored, mobile command unit, scanning over stacks of field reports, changing orders, and pouring over Intel from the Center of Disease Control. As best as he could understand the situation before him, a brand new bipedal species of ape-like monsters came out of thousands of years of hiding and declared war on the modern world. Their muscle density was several times that of the largest bear. They could move at speeds up to forty miles an hour, and they were dang agile, too. To make matters worse, the beasts weren’t as stupid as they looked either. There was a deep instinctual cunning to their actions. The monsters were hard to put down and it didn’t help that they were strong. He’d heard reports of the things using abandoned cars as weapons. If they got their hands on you, you were dead, torn to shreds. Still, their numbers were limited. Eventually, they would run out of bodies to throw at his men. A simple war of attrition would finish them for good, assuming they all came out to play and didn’t retreat into hiding again. Unfortunately, something unexplainable made them impossible to detect by most modern equipment. Direct line of sight was about the only thing that worked. There were numerous “brains” at work on figuring this “effect” out, but General Walters knew they wouldn’t have any answers in time to help him here in this battle. The war—if it could truly be called that—was limited as of now to the Carolinas, Georgia and Virginia. Defensive lines had been set up, containing those states, and additional troops were being deployed throughout the other southern states in case they, too, fell under attack from within their own borders. This was a war the general would have preferred to fight with armor, but the monsters were spread out and multiplying fast. Infantry was what was mainly required to go after them head on. He had only a single tank platoon under his command, led by Colonel Drake, and they had been dispatched to engage the beasts, if possible, in the areas where all this madness had begun.

His men initially took back and held large areas of the four besieged states before the crap really hit the fan. He laughed at the early reports, writing them off to the stress of war and battling mythological bipeds come to life, but they kept coming. Now he held in his hands a statement directly from the chief of the C.D.C. The dead were coming back to life and eating the living. These “Sasquatch” carried a dormant virus in their blood unlike anything the eggheads had ever seen before. This knowledge was obtained from a study of the two original corpses of the beasts that’d been shipped out of Babble Creek when the first troops arrived there. Given time, a human body exposed to this virus would reanimate as a crazy, hungry carrier with no purpose but to spread the virus further with their teeth and nails. The time it took for the virus to become active in a human host, dead or alive, varied greatly. Those killed in the initial attack on the town of Babble Creek were just now beginning to rise, but his men claimed they had seen fellow soldiers fighting beside them get up and turn on them in mere minutes. The best explanation the C.D.C.’s statement offered was that the virus itself was mutating inside its human hosts and becoming more aggressive with each victim. If you got bit, even postmortem, or somehow got a Sasquatch’s blood mixed with your own, you were a goner. At this point, the C.D.C. hadn’t even come up with a treatment to slow the virus much less a cure.

There were so many unanswered questions: Why had it taken the original victims so long to rise in Babble Creek? Why were the dead awakening faster and faster now? How had the beasts gotten the virus to begin with and why wasn’t it affecting them so far? Walters shook his head. None of it really mattered. That was all academic and at the moment, taking the beasts out and putting the dead back in their graves were what needed to be done.

General Walters wadded up the report in a clenched fist. He knew the real danger now was the virus and not the beasts that had carried it into a non-expecting world.

The latest reports told him that the virus was spreading like wildfire through the civilian population and his men. The number of carriers grew with each passing hour while his forces dwindled and reinforcements were still being gathered. The President wasn’t about to issue an order to use nuclear weapons across the entire southern United States, and if he did, the general doubted it would stop the virus. The C.D.C.’s statement hinted they believed radiation would have no effect whatsoever on the carriers who were already dead and reanimated. He and those under his direct command were in the very heart of it all, somewhere in the backwoods of North Carolina. He had lost track of the battle group’s exact location as they stayed on the move, sweeping away hostiles as they encountered them. Despite their losses, which were numerous compared to the beasts, the group still numbered over a hundred strong in just its infantry contingent. Dozens more manned the trio of A.P.C.s and the mobile command unit itself. So far, they hadn’t seen many of the dead. General Walters figured that would be changing soon. His officers were instructed to brief all the men on how to deal with the dead as only a headshot would take the rotters down and make them stay there. He wondered if the training would hold up in actual combat since the men were taught to aim for the chest from the moment they were issued weapons. The head was not an easy target in any regard.

Around him the communications experts tried their hardest to keep up with the enormous amount of chatter clogging the airwaves from both the other groups inside the hot zone and Washington. No one had a real plan on how to deal with something like what they were facing and the general hoped the entire world wouldn’t pay the price for it. If the virus got loose into the rest of the United States, it could very well be game over for everyone. Even, eventually, the world.

Kelly

Kelly awoke as someone or something pounded on the front door of her trailer. Snatching the closest of the weapons propped alongside of the bed, she double checked it, ensuring there was a round in the shotgun’s chamber and held her breath. The door rattled in its frame, the noise echoing through the trailer to where she sat on the edge of her bed. Something wasn’t right. There was no way her flimsy door could stand up to one of those Sasquatch things. A single blow from one of their hairy fists would turn it to sawdust.

Cautiously and as quietly as possible, she crawled from the bed and crept through the trailer. It was still dark outside and the rain had renewed its assault on the world. Deciding it was worth the risk, Kelly moved to the window to the right of the door and lifted the corner of the curtain to peek into the night. A pale, distorted face slapped against the glass, staring in at her. She took a step back, tripping over her coffee table, and fell hard to the floor. The shotgun discharged, leaving a gaping hole in the trailer’s roof. Cursing herself and ignoring the pain in her backside, she pumped another round into the chamber and rolled to her feet. The window’s glass cracked as an open palm swatted it with an even greater fury than the attack that continued on the front door. The man outside moaned loud enough to be heard through the glass. He struck the window again. The glass broke, cutting his hand in several places, but the man seemed oblivious to the pain. He was already trying to pull himself up and inside through the window as she recovered enough from her shock to take action.

The man must be on drugs or completely insane, she thought; either way, she wasn’t about to let him into her home. She used the shotgun’s butt to bash his head in. His skull folded inward from her blow, his skull cracking like a watermelon hitting the ground. Kelly hadn’t meant to hit him that hard, but her panic got the better of her. The man toppled from view, disappearing into the shadows and rain beneath the window. Kelly flinched from the horror of her own actions. Forgetting all else, she ran to the now-silent front door and flung it open to see if he was still alive. A woman, naked other than a loose bathrobe and with a clearly broken arm, came lurching towards her, getting partway into the trailer. Kelly reacted out of instinct, raised the shotgun and squeezed the trigger. The point-blank blast tore the woman’s stomach apart, spilling strands of red, sticky guts to the carpet. Blood splattered the wall near the door. The woman staggered, but stayed on her feet. Her dull, hungry eyes met Kelly’s. Kelly gawked at the petite, little blonde in front of her, who should be dead and sprawled at her feet. The blonde moaned and started forward a second time. Kelly met her advance with a wicked blow of the shotgun’s butt to her chin. The blonde’s neck snapped as her body twisted around and careened into the wall. Her corpse slid down it, soiling the wallpaper, leaving red streaks in its wake. Finally, the woman appeared to be down to stay, but her eyes still moved in their sockets and fixed themselves onto her. Kelly shuddered and felt sick as she stared into those cold, inhuman orbs. Before she could so much as move, the man was back. He staggered through the doorway. There was a dent in his skull from where she’d struck him, but he didn’t act as if he was hurting at all. With a wound like that, he shouldn’t even be conscious. She took aim, and with a single shot reduced his head to pulp. His body flopped over and twitched a few times before lying still.

Was she going insane? she wondered, stepping boldly onto her front porch to see if there were more folks who wanted a piece of her. Two oddly-dressed and injured people worked their way up her driveway and a third came bursting from the woods on her left. She whirled around and blasted the fast mover with a round to the center of his chest. He went flying backwards, but clearly wouldn’t be staying down for long. At first, she’d worried maybe these folks were just sick and needed help, but she knew they were dead. Zombies or whatever you called them. That’s what they were. No one could live through the amount of damage some of them had on their bodies and still be walking. Disbelief would be easy―if this was any other day. With Bigfoot on the loose, the idea of the undead wasn’t a hard pill to swallow at all.

Kelly turned back and ran for the trailer’s rear door. She only had one shell remaining in the shotgun and there were three of the folks out front. If the shotgun wouldn’t take them out, she didn’t have a lot faith that the Glock in the holster on her hip would. Her plan was to go out the back and double around to the sports car parked in the driveway near the trailer. She briefly thought about fetching the rest of her weapons, but didn’t want to get cornered in her bedroom if more of the things showed up while she was doing so.

She kicked the backdoor, not bothering to unlock it. Thankfully, it was old and not in the best shape; one of those things she’d always planned to fix up but never got around to. It flew open and she hurled herself into the rain, sprinting around the trailer.

Drake

The M1A4’s heavy treads pulled it forward at speed that would have been astonishing to a civilian onlooker. Despite the weight of its seventy tons of armor and weapons, the tank sped along the road at close to forty-five miles per hour. It was buttoned up and Colonel John Drake sat below the hatch of its closed turret. He was in command of the platoon of tanks that accompanied General Walters’s battle group into the hot zone the South had become. The C.W.S. was alive and active. The three other tanks of the platoon followed in The Legion’s wake as the convoy rolled into Jackson County. Drake was only thirty-five years old, but he was a veteran of the United States’ continued police actions around the globe. This was his first real combat mission in over a year, though. His time had more recently been spent pushing papers behind a desk in Washington, DC. He felt guilty using his rank to be a part of this mission on the frontlines of the new war humanity faced. The M1A4 tanks were untested prototypes and having helped in designing them, he wasn’t going to miss their trial by fire, even though the original plan had been to break them in on the sands of the Middle East and not in the backwoods and hills of Western North Carolina. Their objective was to find and engage the beasts that were the carriers of the new virus that threatened to break through the already-straining quarantine lines around the four southern states where the Bigfoot had executed a massacre. So far, they weren’t having much luck. Something about the beasts, now christened “The Feet” by his men, made them all but flat-out undetectable to even the best and most advanced state-of-the-art sensors the military had at its disposal. The battle with these Sasquatches was a line of sight one and he was beginning to accept that fact. Though his platoon was giving it their best, the Feet were proving to be hard to find. The dead, however, if that’s what they truly were, seemed to be everywhere. Their numbers were unimaginable and frightening. Dozens upon dozens of them moaned and snarled at the convoy as it passed them on the roadsides. Drake ordered his men from the very start not to waste ammo on the rotters. They were the general’s problem, not his. His task was to eliminate the virus’s original carriers not its victims, and his platoon was far from any kind of real supply line.

Using the C.W.S., he zoomed in on the face of a young man who staggered down the side of a hill towards the road ahead of the convoy. The young man’s skin was unnaturally pale with an almost bluish hue. Long, deep claw wounds scarred the exposed front of his chest beneath the tattered remains of a shredded T-shirt. The white of broken ribs protruded from the boy’s mangled flesh. Drake had seen countless others like the young man who by all rights should be growing cold in a crumpled heap, dead on the ground, yet they still moved and, if given the chance, would eat you alive.

“Colonel,” Shawn, the tank’s driver, called through the radio inside his helmet. “The town’s just up ahead, sir.”

Drake shoved his thoughts of the virus and the young man from his mind, regaining his focus. He tapped the radio, addressing his whole platoon. “Form up. Full stop.”

The four tanks formed a line staring into the town of Sylva. They’d reached one of the two original hot zones. This place and the town of Babble Creek was where it all began. It was believed by command that most of the Feet would still be concentrated in the two areas, but then Drake was used to crappy Intel. If they were indeed here, the monsters were sticking to the shadows as if they somehow sensed they wouldn’t pose a real threat to his platoon of armored death. The dead were either incapable of such reasoning or immune to fear entirely.

“By the power of Grayskull!” John, the Legion’s loader, muttered as Drake and his crew watched the waves of rotting dead people come pouring from the town’s streets to meet them. The targeting system of the Legion’s mounted .50-caliber was going insane over Drake’s link to the C.W.S. as it acquired target after target.

“Sir?” Bentley, the gunner, asked.

“Hold your fire,” Drake forced himself to say then repeated the order to the other tanks in the platoon. “Keep your cool. They can’t hurt us. Stay buttoned up and watch for any sign of the Feet.”

The wall of the advancing dead crept closer to their position, but Drake did his best to ignore the rotters. “They’re in there. I can feel it,” he said to no one in particular. “Let’s light up some of the closer buildings and flush the mothers out. One shot per unit.”

“Yes sir!” Bentley snapped to attention as he went to work.

Drake felt the M1A4’s massive gun swivel to center itself on the building Bentley had targeted. It appeared to be some kind of tourist store that sold trinkets and mugs with pictures of the Smoky Mountains on them. No big loss to the world there, Drake thought as the hammer fell and the main gun thundered. In the blink of an eye, the shop blossomed into a cloud of flame and flying shrapnel behind the ranks of the dead. The night turned briefly orange and red as three more buildings at the edge of the town joined it. Many of the dead were consumed by the flames and even more were ripped to twitching bits by the shrapnel, but the group of walking corpses as a whole didn’t respond in the slightest to the destruction around them. They kept steady in their slow, mindless advance. Like the rest of his crew and those in the other tanks, Drake’s focus was on the swarm of rotters.

Just then the tank shook as something heavy landed on top of it. He heard the monster’s roar a fraction of a second before the pounding of massive fist began on the hatch above him.

“What the . . . ?” Shawn said.

The sensors didn’t work on the Feet, but the beasts still showed up on camera just like anything else. Switching to an exterior view of the tank’s top, Drake’s jaw dropped as he saw the nine-foot-tall beast attempting to tear the Legion’s hatch open with its bare hands. Two more of the creatures joined the first. Drake jumped as a pair of hair-covered hands snatched the barrel of one of the tanks lower secondary weapons and bent it with the groan of grinding metal.

“Shawn!” Drake screamed. “Get us out of here!”

The Legion’s turbine engine powered up and the tank jerked as it shot into reverse. Two of the beasts lost their hold, tumbling from its top. The first monster managed to grab hold of the main gun and swung itself to land on the tank’s rear with a resounding thud that vibrated throughout the entire vehicle.

“Shawn! Shake that thing off us now!”

The Legion lurched back and forth as its main gun turned on its axis. By the grace of God, the monster somehow stumbled and rolled, bouncing from the tank. The second it was off, the tank stopped cold and Drake went forward in his seat as Shawn slammed the tank into full reverse again. Drake, using the C.W.S., was ready this time as the monster returned. It was met by a point-blank burst of .50-caliber fire as it became a mist of blood and flying bone fragments. Swiveling the gun around to scan for more targets, Drake caught a glimpse of the Grant. Three of the monsters together picked up an abandoned SUV and charged it. At the last moment, the monsters let go of the SUV, throwing it into her side. The SUV’s fuel tank ignited from either the impact or tank’s own barrage of .50-caliber fire that met it in its flight. Drake lost sight of the Grant in the explosion.

The other tank, the Gabriel, wasn’t fairing much better. It was the heaviest attack tank in the platoon engaged by five of the Feet. One of them held a streetlight and bashed it over the tank’s forward armor like a club. Three others were on its top, trying to force its hatch open, and the fifth member of the small pack held the tank’s main gun in something similar to a bear hug, jerking it this way and that as it tried to tear it free of its mount.

Then suddenly, they were saved. The monsters turned to face the advancing ranks of rotting corpses. Several of them issued roaring battle cries so loud Drake heard them inside the Legion’s armored hull. A few of the beasts even ran to meet them. The lead Sasquatch’s massive fist delivered an uppercut to a dead man that reduced his skull to a pulp and nearly tore his head from his body. All of the beasts stood their ground. The dead swept over them, the rotters’ fingernails digging at the beasts’ hides and cutting into their flesh.

Drake watched a dead woman hurl herself onto one of the beasts. She clung to its back as it tried to shake her off. One of her hands reached around the side of its face and clawed the beast’s eye from its socket. The Sasquatch roared in pain and fury. It managed to get a hold on her by her hair and flung her over its shoulder to the ground, breaking almost every bone the woman’s body. The beast had barely straightened back to its full height as a trio of rotters crashed into it, trying to pull it to the ground. The same scene was being replayed out all around them. The beasts swatted them away like flies, bashing heads and breaking bones; however, for each of the rotters that fell, a dozen more took its place. The dead men and women wrestled several of the hulking Feet to the dirt through the power of sheer numbers. Drake watched one go down with over a dozen of the rotters clinging to it. Some were holding onto its massive arms, others ramming themselves into its torso, as still two more clawed their way up its back. Five or more of the many beasts present fell to the dead. The rotters moved in around each of the downed beasts, piling upon their struggling forms, trying to get a piece of their flesh. At last, a cry howled through the night from the largest of the creatures and the other Feet joined it in bugging out. The beasts fled into the woods without looking back. A large portion of the rotters gave chase, moaning, growling.

The tank was silent expect for the armor-dulled moans of the dead outside. Finally, John spoke up. “Well, I guess that explains why we haven’t found more of the Feet. The dead ate them.”

The others of the Legion’s crew burst into laughter, but Drake only allowed himself a small smile.

Pete

Pete kept an eye on Sarah. There was something wrong with her. When they had met hours ago, his impression was she was as tough as they came, but everyone had a breaking point and he thought she might have reached hers. Losing Chuck to simple bad luck then watching him get up and try to eat them could very well have been too much for the poor girl to cope with. She sat on the side of the road, sharpening the combat knife she’d taken from him, cleaning it every so often on the bottom of her floral dress, which was torn, filthy, and spotted with blood. Sarah was quiet, but tears dripped down her cheeks. She glanced at him and Pete saw the rage lurking inside of her. He turned his gaze away and went to check on Vera.

Vera lay propped against the passenger side of their useless and out-of-gas patrol car. His jacket lay over her as a makeshift blanket. Snot oozed from her nostrils and her skin continued to grow paler. A clammy sweat soaked her hair and skin. He knelt beside her and could feel the heat of her fever coming off her in waves without even touching her skin.

She opened her tired eyes. “Don’t look at me like that,” she rasped. “I don’t want your pity.”

Pete didn’t say anything. He adjusted the jacket where it had slid down to keep her warm.

“You know that twit is right. Chuck was a—”

“Don’t say it,” Pete told her.

“Why, soldier man? Is it finally too much for you to handle, too?”

He felt his cheeks grow red with anger, but held his tongue. “You need to rest.”

“What does it look like I’m doing? No amount of rest is going to save me. Nothing is. Didn’t you ever watch any horror movies? I was dead the second Chuck took a chunk out of my hand. If you’re smart, you’ll do us both a favor and put a bullet in my brain before I am able to get to my feet again.”

“I’m not having this discussion.” Pete stood. Sarah popped up beside him. She raised her knife and rammed it to its hilt into Vera’s skull.

Pete stared at the girl in shock and disbelief. “What the―”

“Just because you didn’t have the balls to do it, doesn’t mean it didn’t need to be done,” Sarah said, her voice as cold as Chuck’s corpse, which lay several yards away in the middle of the road.

Pete shoved her back, the impact of his palm on her chest enough to create a hollow thud. “You’ve lost it. That was your friend you just murdered.”

“She was never my friend, and what I just did wasn’t murder, it was mercy.”

“How dare you? If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even be here now!”

“I’m not the one who’s lost it, Pete,” she spat.

A man in blood-stained work clothes came charging onto the road and rammed himself in between them. Sarah sidestepped the man’s lunge and hastily backed away from him. Thick red drool leaked from the dead man’s snarling lips. Pete positioned himself to block the man from approaching the car. After the incident with Chuck, Stephanie had collapsed and she still sat in the car’s passenger seat where he had laid her, unconscious. The noise from Sarah’s shouting at him had roused her somewhat, but she was still out of it as far as he could see. He drew his 9mm and put a round into the rotter’s forehead, payback for the undead interrupting him from laying into Sarah.

Sarah’s laughter echoed in his ears. “For someone who doesn’t believe, you sure aimed for his head fast enough.”

“Stow it,” Pete growled, popping the expended clip from his pistol and shoving another one into it. It was tempting to take the gun and do the world a favor and remove Sarah from the land of the living. Absentmindedly he thought, Then I’d have to deal with an undead version of her if the first headshot doesn’t keep her down for good.

He regained his composure and moved to Stephanie’s side. “You okay?” he asked gently, shaking her by her shoulder.

“What . . . what’s happening?” she said, stark terror written all over her face.

Pete had no sane answer to give her.

Kelly

Kelly rounded the corner of the trailer, sprinting for the sports car she’d looted from an abandoned house earlier in the evening. One of the three rotters was nowhere to be seen. Luckily, it had entered the trailer in search of her as she’d made her way out the back. The other two stood on her small front porch. They moaned when she came into view, one of them rushing to get at her so quickly it slipped and rolled down the short set of wooden steps. Its right leg folded behind it with the sound of snapping bone.

Kelly reached the car and flung its door open. She was inside with the engine cranked before the second rotter ever reached the lawn. She threw the car into reverse and stomped on the gas. The car spun around. Its headlights illuminated the pales faces of three more undead shambling up the driveway towards the trailer. She wrenched the car into drive and sped forward to meet them. They made no effort to move out of the car’s path. Kelly cursed, spinning the steering wheel hard to the right, trying to dodge them. As she passed them, the car’s wheels on its left side hit the bank which ran the length of the driveway. The car righted itself with a jarring thump as she drove onto the main road. Instantly, she felt that something wasn’t right. She managed to keep the car headed straight for several more seconds before it careened from the road into a tree. She had no time to wonder if she’d broken the axle, a tire had blown out, or she’d merely lost control. Kelly watched the hood folding up towards her as she was flung forward. A grunt escaped her lips as the steering wheel met her ribs and her breath left her body. Blinding pain coursed through her chest and Kelly knew several of her ribs were cracked from the impact. Gasping for air and barely conscious, her hand closed on the door’s latch. She slid from the car onto the road, clutching her shotgun. Without realizing it, she’d instinctively grabbed the weapon and dragged it with her. It felt heavy and awkward in her grasp when she raised it. Her ribs ached. The rotters were coming. A fast mover raced down the road ahead of the others, howling at her. Each breath she took was a new lesson in pain.

Kelly steadied herself and aimed at the fast mover, waiting until it was mere feet away before squeezing the shotgun’s trigger. Even so, her shot was low, striking the rotter in its chest. The dead man went sprawling to the mud only to climb to his feet in a matter of seconds.

“No,” she attempted to say, but all that came out was a pathetic, wheezing whimper. She silently said a final prayer as the man charged her again and his cold hands embraced her shoulders.

Stephanie

Stephanie flipped open the chamber of her .44 Magnum as she walked and crammed in her only two extra rounds for it. The girl, Sarah, had gone “Rambo,” and the once-cute soldier, Pete . . . well, he apparently wasn’t playing with a full deck of cards anymore. If she wanted to stay alive, she knew she could only count on herself when trouble found them again. They were on foot, with no food or water and very little ammo.

“Happy times,” she whispered, hopefully too quietly for the others to hear.

Sarah was in the lead and Pete was in the rear, a fact Stephanie wasn’t entirely comfortable with but wasn’t about to risk a shouting match over. The town of Babble Creek was still their destination.

Stephanie had argued against heading into Babble Creek and instead suggested they attempt to make it out of the area altogether, get to somewhere where this disaster wasn’t happening. Unbelievably, the two psychos had agreed on Babble Creek despite their differences and outvoted her. Pete and Sarah thought their chances of survival were far greater by heading there. They claimed there would be military grade communications gear in Babble Creek and calling for extraction was the saner route than trying to make it out on their own.

Far to the south, the sky flashed orange as the echoes of powerful explosions resonated through the trees around them. Sarah continued on past them without even a glance over her shoulder.

“What was that?” Stephanie called after her.

“That was the cavalry,” Pete said with a sneer. “The horses are rolling.”

Stephanie ignored him, staring to the south for a moment longer before she hurried to catch up to the others. When she did, they were waiting on her, but their attention was on the path ahead. “Sarah?” she asked, her muscles tensing, fearful as to why the girl had stopped.

Sarah motioned her to silence. This Rambo crap was really wearing on Stephanie’s nerves. She crept to stand beside her and tried to follow her gaze. Squinting, she saw a cluster of people kneeling over something in the middle of the field just beyond the woods. Stephanie shivered as she realized they were gathered around the corpse of a deer and were tearing handfuls of raw flesh from its body and cramming them into their blood-smeared mouths.

“We can take them,” Pete whispered to Sarah.

“We go guns blazing. It will not only bring more of the rotters to us, but it’ll tip off the beasts to our position, too, if there are any of them nearby,” Sarah said. “So we do this quietly.”

Pete was clearly unhappy with how Sarah wanted to deal with the problem, but he didn’t push the issue.

“For all we know, they could all be fast movers. If they are―even if just two of them are―we’ll have to use our guns and you know it, Pete,” Stephanie said.

“They don’t know we’re here,” Sarah said. “We can go around them or just wait from them to finish and wander away. Makes more sense.”

Drake

Hundreds and hundreds of the rotters swarmed over the tanks of Drake’s platoon. Only a few bothered trying to pound or gnaw their way inside through the Legion’s thick armor. The horde’s interest was on the Sasquatches. The beasts had fled after a brief and losing conflict with the dead. Their strength, great as it was, simply was no match for the rotters’ numbers.

Drake sat, safe and buttoned up, inside the Legion, listening to the dead scramble by. Their hungry moans were heard inside the tank even through its armor and over the drone of its turbine engine. He checked in briefly via commlink with the other tanks of his platoon. The Desert Wolf was fine and had suffered little or no damage from the Feet’s attack. The Gabriel’s crew reported it had suffered damage to one its threads. As best as they could tell from the data they had from its systems, it was still mobile but possibly at a lower capacity than optimal. Drake was surprised the Feet’s tactic of pounding the Gabriel with hurled cars had hurt the tank at all. The only possible explanation he could think of was the one car that had exploded on impact had acted like a RPG and an extremely lucky piece of shrapnel hit it in just the right place. The news from the Grant was worse: there was none.

With the dead everywhere and on the Legion like a blanket of decaying flesh, he couldn’t get a visual of the Grant check its condition. Drake hoped it was merely damage to the Grant's gear that kept them from answering. crew was in strangely high spirits, claiming the rotters’ victory over the Feet as their own. Drake didn’t share in their feeling of triumph. His thoughts were focused on the larger picture. The numbers of the dead greatly disturbed him. The virus was spreading far, far faster than even the worst estimates the supposed experts had projected. If things were as bad across all four of the quarantined states as they were here in this little town, he doubted very much the containment lines would hold. It was a dark and scary thing to consider. There was no cure, and no easy out in terms of destroying all the rotters carrying the disease. He prayed those in power wouldn’t leap to a nuclear solution, though he highly doubted the President would. Such a move would be as a last resort and doing so on American soil was bad press.

Drake held himself back from radioing command. They wouldn’t listen to a lowly colonel, anyway. Besides, he had his orders: Find and eliminate the original monsters that had unleashed this nightmare into the world of man. But did those orders matter now? The dead were carriers, too, and with each of their kills, they created another of their kind. His platoon could opt to engage the rotters, try to slow them and thin their numbers before they hit the containment lines in force. It was what his heart told him to do, however he didn’t believe the impact they could make would put so much as a dent in the dead’s numbers. What his platoon on its own could accomplish simply just wasn’t enough to matter.

“All units get ready to roll. We need to return to the main battle group and reassess our course of action.”

Shawn snapped to attention in the driver’s seat. “Yes, sir.”

“Colonel?” John asked “What about the Feet?”

“Take a look out there. It’s the dead we should be engaging,” Drake answered.

“What about the Grant and her crew?” Bentley’s voiced was strained. Drake knew the man was close friends with the Grant’s driver.

“They will roll with us if she’s able. If not, we will come back later to check on her.”

Sarah

Doubling back to miss the small pack of creatures led to greater trouble. Sarah blamed herself for assuming the first group they encountered would be the only ones in the area. She was smarter than that.

As Pete, Stephanie, and her broke from the trees, heading for the house in the distance, eighteen fast movers followed, snapping at their heels.

“Not as full of yourself now, are you, little girl?” Pete screamed as he poured on the speed and shot past her. Sarah was glad she wasn’t carrying a gun like the others because she might have put a bullet in his back.

She glanced over her shoulder as she ran to check on Stephanie. Stephanie was far from old, only in her thirties, and in fairly decent shape, but compared to herself and Pete, a professional soldier, the woman was straining to keep moving.

“Move it!” Sarah yelled at her.

Pete reached the house ahead of them. He smashed into the door, ramming it open with his shoulder. Sarah kept up her own pace, racing across the house’s lawn after him. Pete screamed from within the house’s shadows; flashes of gunfire lit up the doorway.

She was only feet from the door when he emerged from the house. The two of them nearly collided head on.

“Forget it!” he shouted. “The place is infested!”

A half-eaten pregnant woman with a gaping hole in her oversized belly came charging out and leapt at him. The tiny hand reaching out from inside her managed to grab hold of his jacket. Pete shook it off, spun around, and caught the side of the woman’s head with the butt of his rifle. The woman’s skull cracked under the force of the blow and she went sprawling to the mud at his feet. Pete paused only long enough to put a burst of fire into her stomach, hitting his mark of the body of the tiny hand still clawing at the air above it, then dashed towards the woods on the left.

The encounter gave Stephanie time to catch up with them. Her red cheeks, ragged breath, and the sweat dripping from her entire body let Sarah know she was near collapsing.

“Pete!” Sarah yelled. He ignored her or didn’t hear her cry over the howls and moans of the dead around them. Sarah turned and met Stephanie’s desperate gaze with a look of pity. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as Stephanie’s eyes grew wider. “I can’t die like this. There’s nothing can do.”

“Wait!” Stephanie wailed, trying to grab at her, but Sarah dodged her attempt and followed Pete. As she ran, she listened to the thunder of Stephanie’s .44 Magnum behind her. The large gun boomed twice in rapid succession before Stephanie’s shrieks of pain cut the night.

As Sarah hit the treeline, Pete waited on her.

“You bastard!” she spat. “If you had stayed and helped, we might have been able to save her!”

“Glad to see you, too.” He yanked her deeper into the woods. “She’ll slow them down enough to give us a chance. Don’t waste it.” Pete burst into another sprint, heading south. Seething with rage, Sarah’s grasp on her knife grew tighter as she ran.

A few minutes later, the two of them had cleared the woods and stood in the middle of a road she didn’t recognize. Pete slung his rifle onto his shoulder by its strap and leaned over with his hands on his knees, catching his breath.

“We lost them,” he said, “or they would be on us already.”

Sarah listened to the darkness surrounding them. He was right. The night was still and quiet except for the lingering rain. “Stephanie’s dead.”

“So?” Pete straightened up to his full height, towering over her. “A lot of people have died tonight. Better her than us.”

“You mean better her than your own army butt. We could’ve saved her. If we’d all stopped and fought . . .”

“You’re lying to yourself, kiddo. If we stopped, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. We’d be digesting in the stomachs of those rotters back there and you know it. Besides, we’re almost there.”

“Almost where?”

“Babble Creek. This is the road that leads down into the place where this all started.”

Sarah took a longer look around then knew he was right.

“What the—?”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Don’t you hear it? Come on!” He led her down the road at a jog.

As they moved, she heard it, too: the distant sound of battle. Her legs felt like they were on fire and her heart was close to exploding as they reached the top of the hill. The two of them stood looking into a sea of violence and chaos. At its center was a large battle group of infantry accompanied by a handful of A.P.C.s and one heavily-armored mobile command vehicle. The group was enclosed on all sides by the dead. Thousands of rotting and hungry men, women, and children shoved forward against the soldiers’ ranks. Gun smoke and the chatter of automatic fire echoed throughout the woods. The front ranks of the infantry were being overrun and many of the soldiers were locked in hand-to-hand combat with the rotters. Gunners atop the A.P.C.s mowed down the dead with continuous streams of .50-caliber fire in a desperate attempt to push the corpses back.

“Who are they?” Sarah asked.

“The reinforcements,” was all Pete said. An explosion ripped its way through the swarm of the dead below as a soldier scampered on top of one of the A.P.C.s and sent a RPG into their midst.

“We can’t reach them!” Sarah screamed over the noise of the battle.

“We have to try!” Pete shrugged his rifle off his shoulder and tossed it to her. “See you on the other side, one way or another.” He drew his pistol and flung himself down the hill towards the dead.

Drake

The Legion’s tracks dozens of the dead who were too stupid or too stubborn to flee the massive tank’s path. Rotting flesh and bone couldn’t stand against seventy tons of turbine-driven metal. The Desert Wolf followed her, keeping pace, with the Gabriel limping along behind them. The damage to the Gabriel’s threads was taking its toll on her and growing worse. Drake knew it wouldn’t be long until they would be leaving the Gabriel behind as well. His platoon had already lost the Grant. As far as he knew, the Grant was still sitting outside of Sylva with her crew likely trapped inside her and unable to communicate with the world beyond her armored hull. The fact pained him, but such things were the cost of war. The comm. channels were flooded with screams, the sound of gunfire and the background howls of the dead. Barked orders from the officers of the general’s group shot through the headset as if those officers were right beside him. The main battle force was under siege near Babble Creek, somewhere just outside of town. His tanks were already en route when the hammer fell and the dead made their move on the general’s forces.

“E.T.A.?” Drake asked Shawn.

“Less than five, Colonel.”

Drake opened a channel to the other tanks. “We’re going in hot. I want all the secondary weapons blazing. We’ll hopefully be able to thin out the rotters and give the main battle group the time they need to get it together and regroup.” He took a breath, then cleared his throat. “No main guns,” he added as an afterthought. “I don’t want to do any more damage to our own troops than we’re forced to. Ideally, let’s try not to do any damage to them at all.”

“Understood,” Bentley said from the gunner’s position.

Drake tried again to raise the general, but with no success. The channels were too flooded with the cries of terrified soldiers fighting for their lives. Drake dug in the pocket of his jacket and retrieved a tattered photo. On it was the woman of his dreams.

“Can I see?” John asked.

Reluctantly, Drake handed the younger man the photo as the tank continued to speed along the roadway, plowing through and over the scattered dead that wandered into its path.

“Who is she, sir? Your wife?”

Drake shook his head. “Not exactly.” He grew uncomfortable as Joe stared at the photo of the thin brunette whose hair was pulled into a tight ponytail above the shoulder straps of her loose red dress. Finally, John returned the photo into Drake’s waiting hand.

“She’s very cute, sir,” John said.

“Thank you,” he said quietly with a slight nod.

“What’s her name?”

“Bree.” His voice became a whisper. “She’s the only woman I ever really cared about.”

“You two still together?”

“We never really were.” Drake attempted to end the conversation, sliding the photo back into his pocket.

“Is she here? In the hot zone?”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t worry about her, mate. She’s as tough as they come.” He hoped.

“It’s time to rock and roll, Colonel!” Shawn yelled as the Legion drove into a wall of the undead. Rotting bodies were hurled from its path and crushed behind its heavy threads. “We’re here!”

Drake grabbed the controls of the C.W.S. and the heavy .50-caliber mounted near the Legion’s main gun sprang to life.

Many of the dead never even knew what hit them as the three tanks opened up. One of the dead, an older man with ragged, bloody bite marks that stretched up and down the length of his face and neck was Drake’s first victim. The man’s upper body was reduced to pulp as the .50-caliber rounds turned him into a splatter of stale, black blood and pulpy goo. The high-powered rounds continued on through the man’s body, ripping into those behind him. A topless woman, wearing sweat pants, was gutted. Her intestines spilled onto the ground; she moaned and stopped to look down at them. A dead soldier to her left took a round to his knee cap. It exploded in a spray of bone and blood as he fell to the mud.

The heavy gun rotated atop the tank, firing into the dead around it as it cut through them like a scythe, mowing them down by the dozens. A woman, dressed in a torn and soiled gown, took a burst of rounds to her upper body that spun her about and sent her flying backwards. The head of a fat redneck behind her exploded as the stream of fire worked its way up his body. The Legion’s remaining M240 machine gun did its share of damage as well, knocking numerous rotters from their feet as its bursts tore into them, occasionally scoring a headshot and returning the creatures to Hell, where they belonged. One of the faster dead charged the Legion. The .50-caliber spun to meet him. His left arm vanished in a spray of blood and rotting meat before another round took his head from his body.

Sarah

Sarah stood frozen in awe of the rolling, metal demons that tore into the rear of the dead’s lines. She had never seen a tank in real life before. They were like juggernauts of destruction as they moved into the center mass of the rotter swarm, mowing over them and squashing the creatures like insects. Their guns spat empty shell casings and left twitching corpses piled up around them. The tide of the engagement quickly began to shift in favor of the living. The tanks machine guns were blazing away. Their thunder made her want to clap her hands over her ears, but there was no time for that. The soldiers around her took advantage of the growing holes in the rotters’ lines and surged forward on the offensive, their own rifles chattering and cracking skulls.

Sarah ran screaming at a rotter in a business suit. She swung the butt of her rifle upwards, catching him under the chin. The fury of her blow and the awkward angle snapped his neck. Before his body even hit the ground, she had shouldered her weapon, taking aim at teenage girl in a volley ball uniform who was still moving despite the fact that her skull was cracked open and she could see the brain tissue inside it. Whatever had done the damage, though, had must have left the girl’s brain intact enough to function. The rifle in Sarah’s hand cracked in single-fire mode as she finished the girl off. The dead were incapable of retreating; rivers of black blood coated the grass of the field as more and more of them fell. The other soldiers shouted as Sarah watched the last of the rotters fall. A soldier with scruffy blond hair sticking out from under the edges of his helmet stepped towards the final pack of creatures and opened up on them. The metal demons’ guns were silent now and the infantry from the original battle group waded carefully through the massive mounds of corpses, making sure none of the dead would be getting up again.

Sarah saw Pete running towards the other soldiers, his arms raised and waving to let them know he was alive like them. Sarah heard his yells and frantic shouts, telling the soldiers he was human and not one of the rotters. A cluster of five men came forward from the main group to meet him, rifles ready. They surrounded him and ordered him to get on the ground. Pete dropped to his belly, letting them check him over. Finally, he was helped to his feet by one of the others and they led him into the midst of the unit. Sarah readied herself for the worst, praying whoever met her would have better restraint with their trigger finger than those that intercepted Pete. She took a deep breath, clutched her knife tightly in her hand, and ran down the hill towards the soldiers, following Pete’s example.

Drake

Colonel Drake popped the Legion’s hatch and climbed atop her armored roof. It was good to be outside again despite the smells of death and rot that filled the air. Around him, the men from the general’s group were establishing and securing a perimeter around the area. Drake stretched his legs and hopped down onto the mud. Honestly, he admitted to himself, he wanted to stay close to the Legion. His only weapon was the standard-issue 9mm holstered on his hip. If the dead launched another full scale attack on the unit, he knew the tiny gun wouldn’t keep him alive.

One of the general’s aides came running over to greet him.

“Colonel Drake?” the young man asked.

Drake nodded.

“General Walters wants you to join him in the command center. I’m to escort you there directly.”

Drake sighed, his hope of remaining near the Legion squashed. John, Shawn, and Bentley were out of the tank now, too. John and Bentley leaned against its side and Shawn was still on top of it as if terrified to really leave it.

They must have overheard the aide because Bentley said, “Go on, sir. We’ll get her refueled and loaded up as best we can before you get back.”

“Stay close to her and keep her engines hot,” Drake said. The aide stood beside him, waiting nervously on him to follow. “Okay,” Drake said to the young man. “Lead the way.”

The aide scurried through the busy, forming camp towards the mobile command center, Colonel Drake behind him. The two of them entered it together as General Walters looked up at them from a stack of sweat-stained and battered reports grasped in his dirty hands. A special ops trooper covered in dried blood, mud, and looking half dead stood with an equally traumatized teenage girl in a tattered floral dress in front of the general. The two were an odd pair and out place in the command center.

“Drake,” General Walters bellowed. “Get on over here. This is Pete Alves from the original force deployed in Babble Creek. His companion is Sarah Lancaster.” The general shot the girl a glance as if to check he had gotten her name correct. “The two of them have been surviving on the run since things went into the pot here. I believe they can be a valuable asset in determining just how bad things have grown throughout this region.”

Drake appraised the odd pair, deeply impressed by them. “No offense,” he said to the two of them before turning to General Walters, “but I don’t think we need their statements to know how bad things are, sir. The town of Sylva alone contains enough of the dead to threaten the outer lines, and I’d wager the cities down here like Asheville are far worse. It’s my recommendation that you order a full withdrawal of our personnel from the hot zone to reinforce those lines before the virus breaks free.”

The general’s expression became an angry scowl. “Colonel, I am not letting some overgrown apes push me into open retreat.”

“This isn’t about the Feet anymore. The dead are the real threat now. Surely you can see that. They’ll deal with the beasts for us.”

The general burst into laughter. “Oh they will, will they?”

Drake gritted his teeth, willing himself to remain calm. “I have every reason to believe so, sir. I have seen the dead attack them just like they’re attacking us. The beasts are a food source to them just the same as we are. The beasts have greater strength and cunning, but they can’t fight a war of attrition with the dead any more than we can. There’s too many of the blasted rotters for them to cope with. Our only hope is to contain this thing here and now. If the virus gets past our lines, the whole United States, and maybe the world, will fall to it.”

“He’s right,” the girl said. “We’ve got to draw the line and hold it here. There won’t be another chance. Look at how far and how fast its spread already.”

“Young lady,” General Walters said, “I’m grateful for what you can tell us about what we’re up against, but this is a military matter and I didn’t ask for your opinion on how to proceed. Another outburst like that and I will have you locked away until this mess is concluded.”

“Are you second in command here?” the special ops trooper asked Drake. The question stunned him and apparently the general, too, given the look in the old man’s eyes.

“Yes,” Drake answered, unsure of why he had been asked at all.

“Good,” Pete said. A knife appeared in his hand with a flick of his wrist and he leapt at the general. Before Drake or anyone else could react, the general’s throat was an open slit and dark red blood flowed over the front of his uniform. Wide-eyed, the general clutched his throat, gagging as he tried to breathe. Pete dropped the knife to the floor as Drake and several other officers in the command center drew their side arms, leveling them at him.

“Hold your fire!” Drake ordered, but one officer had already taken a shot. The bullet struck Pete in the shoulder, sending a splatter of wet redness into the air as the special ops trooper was knocked down from its impact and toppled to the metal floor with a dull thud. Pete laughed as Drake knelt over him.

“Guess you’re in command now,” Pete said as Drake watched his eyes fall closed. Pete lay still, but Drake checked him. The man was alive.

“You idiot,” Drake spat at Pete’s unconscious form as everyone else stared at him and awaited his orders.

The weight of responsibility Drake felt was staggering. He stood. “Get this man medical attention. I want him to live for his court martial. I need full reports on what we have left in terms of ammo and manpower. I want a secure perimeter up around this battle group until we’re ready to roll. Triple whatever watch General Walters had.” Drake whirled on Sarah. The teenage girl was visibly shaking, but stiffened under his gaze. “Did you know he would do this?”

“No,” she said quietly, then composed herself. “I knew he was unstable but . . . not enough to do this. Besides, if I had spoken up, who would have listened?”

Drake grunted, knowing she was right. “You can bet I’m listening now. The world is falling apart and we might be all that stands between this virus and the rest of civilization. I’m tired of hunkering down and engaging the Feet where we can. It’s time we took the fight to the rotters.”

“What about me?” Sarah said, flicking a rogue strand of brown hair from her eyes.

“Consider yourself drafted. If you’ve survived out there this long, it’s clear you can handle yourself. Get her cleaned up,” Drake said, addressing the personnel now under his command. “And get a weapon in her hands.” At that, he turned and headed for the door.

“Sir?” one of the general’s aides called after him. “Where are you going?”

“As of this moment, the Legion is my command center. I’ll make my calls from the battlefield not from inside this thing.” He rapped a fist on the vehicle’s wall. The aide nodded, accepting his decision

The reports weren’t good. The rotters’ attack on the group had more than halved the remaining number of men at his disposal. On the upside, it made the ammo stretch that much further so each soldier carried more. The Legion herself was refueled and reloaded along with the Desert Fox. Though it pained him, Drake ordered the Gabriel abandoned and her crew added to those abroad the group’s A.P.C.s. Her damaged threads were too unreliable and he’d rather scrap her now than have her break down on the road. The Legion and the Desert Fox would take the lead, with the three A.P.C.s bringing up the rear. The infantry would march between them, giving them at least a little protection if the Feet came calling instead of the rotters. The mobile command unit would remain here with a skeleton crew of volunteers to man it. The massive vehicle was useful only in its comm. gear and satellite links, so leaving it behind as they entered battle seemed a good choice as far as Drake was concerned. He guessed the bulk of the rotters were headed north towards the quarantine lines above Virginia. It was his hope to overtake them and thin their numbers before they reached their destination. Less than half of the rotters he had encountered were fast movers so it seemed a reasonable goal. The fast movers even often stayed with the main swarm unless there was prey within their line of sight. Marcus, the commander of the Desert Fox, and Wilcox, the commander of the Gabriel, now in command of the armored personnel carriers, became his aides and seconds in command thanks to hastily-granted field promotions. He trusted them and their instincts far more than those who’d been part of the existing command structure before it had fallen to him.

The rotters hadn’t launched another head-on attack against them as yet, and the Feet were nowhere to be seen, giving credence to his theory that the dead were moving on as their food sources were wiped out and it became difficult to find prey.

Drake gave the word and the battle group began its trek northward in the dead’s wake.

The Feet

The largest of the male Sasquatches present issued a series of grunts at the dozen with it. The pack hid in the trees above the interstate corridor, watching a rotting horde of the dead move along the road like a swarm of angry, decaying locusts. The big male knew the horror of the old days was upon them once again and this time there would be no retreat. The woods, mountains, and caves offered no protection or place to hide against so many. The dead’s numbers only continued to grow as they swept across the land, devouring everything on two legs―sometimes four—as they went. Whatever tribe had broken from the old ways and started this new war with the hairless ones were fools. They’d doomed them all. The women and children must be rounded up and sent back to the farthest depths of their world in the hopes that the dead passed them by while warriors like himself along with all the other males committed themselves to the hunt. As long as the disease kept to the hairless ones and not his own kind, there was hope.

He sniffed the air, shaking his head at the foul odor of death on the wind, and looked down at the dead once more. He was not capable of counting high enough to put a name to their number. It didn’t matter. Those rotting things below would be crushed here and now, their taint stricken from the land.

Throwing his head back in a deafening roar, one of his mighty hands swung towards the dead. Those around him picked up his battle cry as the pack left the cover of the trees, charging down the hillside to meet the deceased. Many of the dead stopped in their tracks, hollow and hungry eyes falling upon the living flesh descending upon them. A few dozen of the dead issued snarls of their own and rushed to meet his warriors. The Alpha Sasquatch smashed into them like a runaway eighteen-wheeler, rendering some of them immobile with broken bones from the force of his impact. He reached and squashed the skull of a woman without a lower jaw as he waded into the dead’s ranks. His warriors followed. Hair-covered fists and feet ripped limbs from bodies, smashed in ribs, snapped spinal columns, and stomped skulls in a fury of death- and rage-fueled destruction.

A thin man wearing a cap and an orange vest leapt onto his back. The man’s teeth sunk into the flesh of his shoulder before he grabbed the man and tossed the rotter away like a broken doll. The Alpha Sasquatch glanced down at the wound and grunted as a trio of rotters advanced on him. He grabbed the first of them, his huge fingers sinking through the dead man’s flesh, snapping the bones of his ribcage. The Alpha Sasquatch lifted the man’s struggling corpse and smashed it into the second rotter like a club. Bone crunched from the blow. Tossing the first rotter aside, he stepped on the second’s head, sending brain matter and black goo spattering over the grass. The last of the trio reached him and flung itself up onto his chest. It held on by handfuls of the beast’s hair, clawing its way closer and closer to its throat. The undead’s mouth open and closed as its teeth snapped at the air. The Alpha Sasquatch caught the rotter by its side and flung it away. Everything was happening so fast and there were so many of the dead. He watched one of his younger followers yanked from his feet by a wave of the dead as three of the things clung to his back, several to each of his wide and well-muscled arms, and still more pressing against him from all sides. With a remorseful wail, he told the others to run, but it was too late even for himself. The dead hung from him like leeches. Too many to shake off, too many to fling away. Every inch of his body seemed to sting from their bites and the rake of their blackened and dirty fingernails. All around him his brothers fell. One lay twitching in a pool of his own blood as several of the dead attempted to hold him to the ground. One of the rotters gnawed into the flesh of his neck and pulled its head up to show lips stained a warm shade of red. Still, he fought on until finally his knees gave way and he dropped to the concrete of the interstate with more and more of the rotting men and women swarming onto and over him, their powerful jaws biting through his tough hide, and tasting his blood until the darkness came.

Sarah

Sarah marched with the men and women of the battle group, who were all trained and professional soldiers. She wore a uniform identical to theirs and held an M-16 in her tired and trembling hands. A 9mm side arm rested in the holster on her right hip. She had time to scarf down a ration bar and re-hydrate herself before the march began, but even so, she was in poor shape. Though she was in the middle of close to a hundred armed and determined U.S. infantry troops, she felt far from safe. She’d seen things drop into the pot too hard and too fast over the last twenty-four hours to believe she would be completely protected, and she wondered if she would ever feel that way again. Creatures that weren’t supposed to be anything more than a myth had come spilling from the forests around her home and killed everyone she’d ever loved. With them, they had brought an even worse and truly apocalyptic terror straight into the “real” world. Besides, who knew what was real and what wasn’t anymore? If she survived and moved to the sunny beaches of California, what would happen then? Would dragons come from the clouds to scorch the sands around her? It was all so insane.

A young soldier, not much older than she was, with blond hair poking out from underneath his ill-fitting helmet, pulled her from the darkness of her thoughts as she slowed just a bit too much in her pace and he slammed into her from behind.

“Sorry,” he muttered and then did a double take as he noticed her age. Laughing, he asked, “Aren’t you a bit young to be a grunt? What happened? Did you get drafted?” He quickened his pace to march beside her.

“Yeah. I guess I did.”

The soldier whistled as his humorous expression fell flat. “Wow,” he said. “I’m really sorry about that.”

“Me too,” Sarah confessed. “I suppose I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Well, it could be worse. I bet this is the safest place in the whole South to be right now. I wouldn’t want to be out there on my own. You know what I’m saying?”

His eyes were blue and, despite the bags under them, full of life. He was kind of cute, in the right light.

“What’s your name?” Sarah said, taking her canteen from her belt for a quick swallow of water.

“Private First Class Paul Whitson at your service, my lady.” He grinned as he partially bowed.

“I’m Sarah.”

“That’s it? Just Sarah?”

“Yep. Just Sarah.” She smiled, stifling a laugh. It felt good just to talk to someone again.

“Wait a second.” Paul shot her a look. “You’re her, aren’t you? The girl who came in with that nutcase that murdered the general?”

“Does that matter?” she asked carefully.

“Not to me,” he assured her. “You don’t seem crazy at all. I’m betting you never even knew that guy until tonight, right?”

“The whole world is crazy now,” she said sadly, “but I’m still just me.”

“That’s a good way to look at things.” Paul raised his rifle and gestured at the one she carried. “You know how to use that?”

“Better than you do,” she said. It was true. “I used to compete.”

Paul chuckled. “Okay. I’ll take your word for it.”

Side by side, they walked on in silence, waiting for the hammer to fall.

Drake

Colonel Drake was thankful for the Legion’s satellite hook ups. While the Feet seemed immune to most normal forms of detection, the rotters were not. He guessed the Intel those links fed him on the dead’s locations and numbers were at least somewhat reliable. And they had better be because his plan hinged on them being correct.

Using the data gleaned from the links, he’d put the battle group on the trail of the single largest swarm of the rotters headed north. The swarm was somewhere above ten thousand strong. There were lesser swarms en route north, but this was the one he feared the most. It was so vast that unless the lines received reinforcements before it arrived, the swarm was sure to breakthrough. The battle group under his command was gaining on the swarm slowly but surely. The fast movers among it were keeping close to the slower dead. In less than another hour, they should overtake its rear section and, Lord willing, properly engage it, causing the swarm to turn on them if all went well.

The Sasquatch were the only unaccounted variable. If they showed, they could do a great amount of damage to his infantry before the tanks and A.P.C.s could drive them into retreat from their sheer firepower and assorted weaponry. Drake was gambling they wouldn’t, that they’d have their own hairy hands too busy with the dead to engage his forces. It was indeed a risk, but so was life. It was time to roll the bones and let fate play itself out. Drake knew he was doing all he or any other commander could do in the mess they were in. His plan was simple: run into the rotting buggers, guns blazing, and shoot them to pieces. The Legion and the Desert Fox would soften the swarm up with their main guns, then the entire battle group would hit them hard and fast, doing as much damage as possible before the rotters rallied and they were the ones who were forced into retreat. If his hopes played out, they would fight a rolling engagement with the dead, leading them south away from the quarantine lines of ill-prepared and under-equipped troops to the north.

The Feet

The young warrior held his place outside the cave’s entrance. He knew the elder and larger female behind him could smell the fear seeping from his skin, yet he was not ashamed. Even a giant Alpha would have felt fear watching the flood of dead hairless ones pouring through the valley towards the cave. He would not run or give ground. His duty to the tribe was to protect the children, and he would do so until his dying breath.

The elderly female swatted his shoulder, grunting, as she gestured at the coming horde. He grunted back at her, trying to give her comfort. With a snort, she turned and walked into the cave. Her sorrowful and pleading cry echoed throughout its depths, letting those below know that death was coming. In response to her cry, the other females came. They joined the young warrior and herself at the cave’s mouth. Together, they moved forward into the trees to make a stand. Many of them snapped limbs from the smaller trees to use as weapons while others hoisted rocks to hurl at the dead as the foul things drew closer.

The young warrior breathed in the stink of rotting flesh and congealing blood. He laid his head back and released his loudest and most violent roar he could give as the dead completed their advance. The large, elder female stepped forward, swinging a thick limb so hard at the first of the rotters she cut the moving corpse in two. His entrails splattered over her and into the air. In a wild stampede, the Sasquatches hurled themselves at the walking dead, clashing in a tangled mass of hair and rotten flesh.

The females fought not for their own lives, he knew, but the lives of their children and their race.

The elder female waded through the dead. Her makeshift weapon, swung with all her strength, sent five of the closest dead tumbling into those behind them as their bones shattered inside them. She jerked the weapon up, as the young warrior watched in awe of her fury, to burst a man’s head open as if was an overripe melon. It was the last he saw of her as two dozen of the creatures charged her, clinging to her body and pulling her to the ground with their weight and numbers. Her pain-filled cries tore at his soul, but there was nothing he could do for her. The other females were being overwhelmed as well. A young female with dark brown hair held a rotter by his neck, ripping chunk after chunk of meat from his chest and torso as the man continued to fight against her. As she rammed her hand deep inside of him, twisting it around, the rotter managed to sink its teeth into the flesh of the arm that held him. The young female howled, letting go. Though the mangled rotter collapsed, four more charged the female beast, knocking her off balance. She went down as the dead poured over her.

Another older female kept her distance from the dead as best she could. She moved from one spot to the next, throwing rocks into them like bullets. One of her throws splattered the head of woman in an already-blood-stained pink robe. Another struck a man dead on in his chest, sending him flying from the impact. The older female was running out of places to move as the dead continued to swarm into the area around the cave’s mouth. The young warrior knew what he had to do. Tearing the dead woman in front of him in half with his fingers, he retreated towards the mouth of the cave. Picking up speed as he left the dead behind him, he hurled himself into the side of the cave’s entrance. He rammed his shoulder into it time and time again, ignoring the pain and the growing stain of blood on the rocks until finally the roof above the mouth of the cave gave way. He loosed a cheerful grunt as the landslide rumbled down the side of the mountain. Boulders, smaller rocks, and dirt collapsed, covering the entrance as he staggered through the falling rocks into the darkness of the cave. As the last rays of dim light vanished, his final breath escaped his battered and wounded form and he toppled to the cold, hard floor.

Drake

The Legion’s main gun thundered, shaking the whole tank despite its recoil system. Drake smiled as Bentley and John worked to empty the massive weapon’s cache of ammo; the gun continued to fire in rapid succession. He knew the Desert Fox was busy doing the same as per his orders. Explosions ripped through the horde of rotters, blowing them down like a fiery tornado. Some were sent back to Hell by shrapnel. Others were set ablaze from the fires around them. Most, though, continued to stagger forward. One man whose entire left arm was now gone, with a stump of white bone protruding from his shoulder, even broke into a full-out run at the Desert Fox before its turret gun reduced his head to a pulp.

Drake cursed, knowing they’d never be able to stop them all this way. It was going to be up to the infantry to finish what they’d started.

When the Legion’s gun, hot and smoking, finally grew silent, he tapped a button, opening a channel to the rest of the battle group. “Let’s send these things back to Hell,” he yelled as Shawn kicked the Legion into gear and the tank barreled forward ahead of the infantry that charged after it in its wake. The barrage left the dead scattered and the ground littered with broken and burning bodies. Drake kept the Legion buttoned up. Using the C.W.S., he had a clear view of the battlefield. The heavy .50-caliber sprang to life as he opened fire. Drake didn’t bother trying to go for headshots. The .50-caliber’s high rate of fire made doing so next to impossible. It didn’t matter, though. The high-powered rounds it spat into the rotters’ ranks shredded them to bits on impact. His sole purpose with the weapon was to lessen the number of intact and mobile dead the infantry faced in the immediate area. Spent and smoldering shells casings bounced onto the Legion’s armored hull and rolled beneath its threads as Shawn used the massive vehicle itself as a weapon. Skulls, ribs, and entire bodies cracked under it as it rolled through and over the dead men and women that rushed to meet it. With the main gun emptied and the .762s out of ammo as well, John and Bentley were now nothing more than passengers along for ride.

Sarah

Sarah shouted a battle cry as she flung herself at the dead, the M-16 in her hands blazing away on full auto. She hosed a teenager in a Lady Gaga shirt, riddling his gray flesh with holes before she finally managed a headshot and his lifeless form crumpled into the mud, leaking cold, black pus from his numerous wounds. Paul fought beside her. His shots were far better placed. He fired careful, professional, three-round bursts into one rotting face after another. Sarah knew she should be doing the same but all the anger, fear and frustration of the last twenty-four hours inside of her loosed itself with a vengeance.

Her rifle clicked empty as a rotter she recognized leapt at her. Though most of the flesh covering her mouth and nose were gone, she knew the thing had once been Bobbie, the red-haired bimbo Matt brought with him to her house before the big party at the Falls. There was no time to eject the spent clip and slam another one home. Sarah spun her rifle around to use it as a club. She swung at Bobbie as the dead girl closed in on her. Bobbie was a fast mover and ducked below the swing, tackling her head-on. The two of them went down in a jumble of arms and legs, each fighting to be the one who landed on top. Sarah’s rage was no match for the frenzied state of Bobbie’s hunger and she found herself with Bobbie sitting beside her, the girl’s blood-smeared fingernails clawing at her cheeks and eyes. Blocking the attack with the thick sleeve of her uniform, Sarah delivered a wicked jab to the underside of Bobbie’s chin, knocking the girl’s mouth shut and allowing her the fraction of a second she needed to roll free of the dead girl’s weight.

Her rifle lay several feet away. She yanked her side arm from the holster on her hip and leveled the weapon at Bobbie’s forehead. The dead girl shrieked a blood-curdling cry of madness as Sarah squeezed the trigger. The bullet splattered blood into the air as it blew through the undead’s skull and entered her brain. Bobbie slumped forward. Sarah dodged her falling corpse and scrambled to her feet. She desperately looked around for Paul, but he was lost in the sweeping tide of the battle.

Just then, a cold, rough hand clamped onto her shoulder. Grabbing the arm attached to it, she flipped the dead woman over her side. The writhing creature landed on its back in the mud at her feet. Sarah fired five rounds into the dead woman’s body, making sure one of them struck the thing’s head above its snarling mouth. Her heart pounded in her chest and her skin grew slick with sweat. She needed to get clear of the rotters. Without her rifle, she was a goner and she knew it. The 9mm had no stopping power to speak of against the dead and over half of its clip was already spent. Jerking a large combat knife from her boot, she retreated with it in one hand and the pistol held ready in the other, firing at the dead only when she had no other choice.

Paul

Paul saw Sarah fall to the red-headed rotter. He wanted to do something, anything, to help her, but there was no time. The soldiers with him were pressing forward and if he wanted to stay breathing, keeping pace with them was the only option.

The rotters were so thick now that it took the combined fire power of the group to hold them back. He followed the rest of the infantry to form a makeshift firing line. There were rotters behind them and a handful of men turned to keep them at bay as he kept his attention focused on the far larger numbers of the dead rushing to engage them from the bulk of the swarm. Gun smoke and the chattering noise of automatic fire became his world as he dropped six more of the dead in a matter of seconds.

The rotters kept coming.

As one fell, three more snarling enemies took its place. It was like standing on a beach trying to stop a wave from rolling in with a water pistol. The Legion and the Desert Fox were hard at it, but they, too, were being overrun. Paul could barely see a trace of the Legion’s armor through the mound of dead that crawled over its hull like ants swarming an apple core. It was then he realized this whole op. was a suicide run meant solely to buy time for the quarantine lines to the north to get their reinforcements so they could hold against the rotters and keep the virus from spreading into the world beyond.

“Fall back!” he heard an officer scream somewhere to his left.

Fall to where? Paul wondered as he turned and saw the swarm of the dead had completely encircled the battle group. Then he saw them. They came from the trees, hulking, feral, and very clearly dead. Their yellow eyes were replaced by orbs of red as if they’d become filled with blood. Several of them spotted him and the soldiers closest to him. One of the beasts opened its mouth as if to roar and a spray of red, thick vomit erupted from its mangled throat.

Bowie, another of the soldiers, aimed his M-16 at the lead monster’s chest. A stream of automatic rounds spotted the beast’s chest with dots of black goo as the bullets pecked at its hide. Even if the beast had been alive, the bullets would have been nothing more than a painful annoyance unable to get any real penetration through the thick layers of muscle. The dead Sasquatch walked calmly towards Paul and Bowie as if it didn’t so much as notice it was being hammered by Bowie’s attack. Paul added his own fire to Bowie’s, emptying the remainder of his clip into the beast as well. Neither of them gave ground. Both Paul and Bowie knew running was useless. The beast could easily overtake them, and the dead would if it didn’t. As Paul discarded his M-16 and yanked his 9mm from its holster, the beast reached for Bowie, who kept firing into it point blank as it lifted him from the mud of the battlefield. Bowie screamed as it pulled him close and it bit through his helmet, cracking through it like an eggshell, its sharp teeth penetrating the bone of his skull. Bowie’s body spasmed and flopped in the air as the monster feasted on his brain.

With the beast distracted, Paul darted past it. Dozen of the human rotters blocked his escape path. He charged them head-on, knowing he had to breakthrough to have even the slightest chance of seeing the dawn. His pistol spat death as he neared them. He popped off two thirds of his clip, scoring four headshots for his efforts before he collided with a fast mover who must have been a bodybuilder when he was alive. Though nothing compared to the beasts, the rotter stood a good foot taller than Paul, outweighing him by at least a hundred pounds. Latching onto Paul with a bear hug, the dead man wrestled him from his feet. The last thing Paul saw before the cold, gray fingers dug his eyes from their sockets was the man’s snarling lips drawing nearer to his nose.

Drake

The Legion had long expended the last of its ammo from its secondary weapons. So many dead covered its armor, breaking their teeth against its depleted uranium, that its few remaining exterior sensors were nearly useless. Drake prayed the sacrifice of the men and women he had led into this battle bought the world outside the hot zone enough time to get its act together and reinforce the quarantine lines.

“Sir!” John shouted at him despite their proximity to one another inside the tank. “We’ve lost contact with the Desert Fox!”

Drake stared at him, stunned to silence. It simply wasn’t possible that the rotters had managed to disable or do any real damage to the tank much less get at its crew.

“Shawn, get us moving,” he said. The Legion’s turbine engine awoke and the tank lurched forward, crushing the rotters that blocked its path. “Circle around the Desert Fox’s position and shake loose as many of the dead as you can while you do it.”

Drake gave Shawn time to carry out his orders, then with an M-16 in hand and ready, he flipped open the hatch above. The dead faces waiting to greet him took a point-blank burst of rounds as Drake made a massacre of them. He emptied his clip, clearing the Legion’s top of its remaining unwelcome passengers. He ejected the spent magazine, slapping another into the weapon as he spotted the Desert Fox. Drake’s heart broke as he saw why she was silent. Five undead Sasquatches stood atop and around her. Her hatch was open and one of the beasts knelt beside it, reaching down into the tank with a long hairy arm smeared with blood.

Drake cursed as two more of the dead beasts headed for the Legion in a full-out sprint, knocking the human dead aside and stomping over them as they closed in. He dropped inside the tank, slamming the hatch shut over him.

“Full speed!” he yelled at Shawn. “Get us out of here!”

Sarah

Sarah was one of the last soldiers alive on the field. She watched the Legion pouring on speed as it rolled southward with two dead beasts chasing it and gaining ground.

The battle group’s A.P.C.s contingent was under siege behind her. One of them lay overturned with two of the beasts caving in its armored side as they hopped onto it, pounding it with their feet and massive, hammer-like fists. More and more of the dead Sasquatches were emerging from the trees to engage the other A.P.C.s. She would find no help from them. Her only hope lay in escaping the battle alone, hopefully unnoticed amid the chaos. The dead beasts seemed to be focused on the vehicles, but unfortunately the human dead were not. Her eyes beheld a sea of rotting, hungry corpses in every direction, leaving her nowhere to run. The dead came at her from all sides. She put holes into the foreheads of the closest six, watching them fall. Her pistol clicked empty.

A wailing and crazed police officer whose eyes were cold and soulless charged her, ducking under the blade of her knife as she moved to intercept him. He plowed into her and took her to the mud. They landed with a wet splash on the rain and blood-soaked ground. Sarah rolled from under him and rammed her blade into the back of his skull. His body went limp as she jerked her blade free. She staggered to her feet and whirled around as two more rotters slammed into her, one from the front and the second from her left flank. She felt jagged fingernails tear through the cloth of her uniform, raking the flesh of her arms as she fought to break free of their hold. In a fit of desperation, she managed to free her right arm enough to plunge her knife’s blade deep into the eye socket of a nerdy-looking man dressed in a shirt and tie. The blade stuck in his skull and was yanked from her grasp as still more of the dead piled on her. She kicked and punched, but there were too many. She screamed and struggled in vain as dozens of sets of yellow teeth ripped and tore her flesh. A rotten hand full of her own intestines was before her eyes; blood leaked from the corners of her mouth.

“No,” she whimpered as a fat, bloated old woman leaned in as if to kiss her and tore her tongue from her mouth.

Drake

The Legion’s weapons were empty and she was running on fumes as her turbine engine pumped every last shred of its power into keeping her rolling at max speed. Drake had radioed the commanding officer of the quarantine lines and requested an extraction. Surprisingly, his request was granted. A copter was en route to retrieve his crew and finally get them out of the living Hell North Carolina had become. Two of the dead beasts still chased the Legion as she rolled along the interstate. Stopping meant they would be trapped inside the tank with the beasts clamoring onto her hull and banging away, trying to get inside. Though that was impossible, Drake had no intention of letting the tank become his tomb. Between them, he and his crew possessed four 9mm handguns, one M-16, and a single grenade. They were going to have to fight their way out as the copter swooped in.

“Sir,” Shawn said, “there’s no way we’re all getting out of here alive. Let me deal with the beasts while you and the others make a break for it.”

“No,” Drake said. “We all leave together or we die together.”

“He’s right, Colonel,” John said. “The tank is the only solid weapon we have left. If we don’t use it, we’re all dead. Someone is going to have to stay behind and drive it.”

Drake shook his head, but he could see his men had made up their minds. “All right. But I am the one who’s staying.”

Shawn leaned back in the driver’s seat with a grin on his face. “Sorry, sir, but you don’t have what it takes behind the wheel. Now get your sorry butt out of here already.”

“Shawn,” Drake started, but Shawn waved away his words.

“Go on, I got this.”

Gently, he said, “Thanks, soldier.”

Shawn nodded.

Drake popped the hatch and climbed atop the moving tank. He held on for dear life while John and Bentley followed him out. The roars and howls of the beasts in pursuit of the tank grew louder as they positioned themselves better to stay onboard.

The whirring blades of the extraction copter were heard in the distance as it drew closer. Drake looked up into the rays of the dawning sun and saw the copter swooping in. A rope ladder dangled from its underside. It matched the tank’s speed and kept pace, hovering above it.

“Go!” Drake yelled at his men.

John moved first. He jumped and caught hold of the ladder, climbing upwards towards the copter . . . and life. When he was halfway up, Bentley made his move. The gunner leapt for the twisting ladder and missed.

“Bentley!” Drake screamed as the man fell from the tank and landed rolling onto the road behind it. The two beasts stopped as they reached his crumpled form and tore into it with ravenous zeal. Blood flew as they ripped him limb from limb and chewed on his muscle and bone.

Shawn turned the tank at that moment, heading back straight for the beasts. Drake made his leap for the ladder and his hands locked onto it as the copter finished its turn and accelerated from beneath where he swung. Drake watched the heavy tank plow into the two beasts while they feasted on Bentley’s corpse. Its main gun impaled one like a spear as it stood to meet the Legion. It writhed and struggled against the tank’s metal, unable to tear itself free. The other beast was less lucky. It had no time to stand and the Legion’s massive threads drove over it, pressing its body into the mud. Its head burst from the pressure, spraying black blood over the rain-soaked grass.

The Legion drove on into the trees and Drake began his climb.

Epilogue

Drake sat at the copter’s open side door beside John as they flew northward. It was hard to believe so much had happened so fast. The world as he knew it a few days ago was gone and in its place was a new world full of fear, death and blood. The pilot had informed them the quarantine lines were holding and as yet the virus was contained to the four states where the beasts had originally attacked.

Drake held back tears. He wasn’t the sort of man who cried openly. The loss of Shawn and Bentley heavily weighed on him. Both of them were good men, trustworthy, dependable, and more than competent at their jobs. The brass were going to try to shove him behind a desk again and have him giving orders from outside the zone. But Drake had other plans. He’d get a new tank and be part of the forces sent in to clear the area of the dead once the army was able to go on the offensive once more. He swore to himself that he would.

“Would you look at that,” John said, pointing at a huge field below them.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, Drake looked down to see dozens and dozens of the beasts fighting a swarm of the dead in the field. Giant hairy forms moved about through a river of hungry rotters, smashing heads and ripping limbs.

“The war’s not over, is it?” John asked.

“Not by a long shot,” Drake said. “Not at all.”

About the Author

Eric S. Brown is the author of numerous horror books including Bigfoot War, Season of Rot, How the West Went to Hell, Season of Death, and World War of the Dead, to name only a few. His short fiction has been published hundreds of times in magazines and anthologies. He has been featured in books like Zombie CSU: The Forensics of the Living Dead, Wanted Undead or Alive, and Halloween Nation: The Secrets of America’s Fright Night as an expert on the genre.

His novel, The War of the Worlds Plus Blood Guts and Zombies, was also recently re-released by Simon and Schuster, and he is the co-creator of the upcoming Bigfoot comic book, Croatoan, coming soon from Knightwatch Press.

Eric lives in North Carolina with his wife, son, and a crazy cat, where he continues to write tales of blazing guns, hungry corpses, and the monsters that lurk in the woods.

Visit his website at http://ericsbrown.wordpress.com

BIGFOOT WAR 3: Food Chain

COMING SOON

Also by Eric S. Brown

Space Stations and Graveyards

Dying Days

Portals of Terror

Madmen’s Dreams

Cobble

The Queen

The Wave

Waking Nightmares

Zombies II: Inhuman

Unabridged Unabashed and Undead

The War of the Worlds Plus Blood, Guts

and Zombies (with H.G. Wells)

Season of Rot

Barren Earth (with Stephen North)

World War of the Dead

How the West Went to Hell

Kinberra Down

Season of Death

Bigfoot War

The Human Experiment

Anti-heroes (with David Dunwoody)

The Weaponer

Bigfoot War 2: Dead in the Woods

Praise for Bigfoot War

“Brutal and visceral, what was once the joke of the Cryptozoological world is now back where it belongs: at the top of the monster food-chain.”

- Scott A. Johnson, author of

City of Demons and Deadlands

“Eric S. Brown breathes new life into the Bigfoot mythos. Grizzly, gritty . . . gripping, Brown pulls you in from page one and doesn’t let go until the very end. Even then, he still haunts your nightmares. Bigfoot War is not to be missed!”

- James Melzer, author of

Escape: A Zombie Chronicles Novel

“Find a big gun, and catch your breath when you can. The raging, relentless pace of this book will grip you until the last page. Mr. Brown has entered new territory and the residents are large, strong, intelligent, and very, very angry . . .”

- Stephen A. North, author of Dead Tide

“Eric S. Brown transmutes myth into horrifying reality. Through key people of Babble Creek, Bigfoot War instantly pulls the reader into a small town facing obliteration. A powerful, unique voice shines here, leaving you white-knuckled until you finish, thirsty for more.”

- Ben Eads, dark fiction writer

and host of The Dark Fiction Show

“The first words unfold to put the reader right in the middle of flat-out adventure, action, violence, and an adrenaline rush of sound and emotion. In addition, Mr. Brown seems to have an instinctive understanding of how to put fiction down on the page. The construction of the book and how it moves is purely professional and inspired. He knows how to craft an effective novel!”

- James Robert Smith, author of

The Flock and Hellraiser

“Goodness gracious, was this book a ride! Eric S. Brown put the proverbial pedal to the metal from start to finish in this fun and fast-paced tale, bringing a horror story filled with gunfire, gore, and grisly death. You barely have time to breath when Bigfoot and the fun bunch wreck shop again and again.”

- Bowie V. Ibarra, author of Down the Road

“Eric S. Brown reminds us that monsters can be fun, even when taken seriously, with this Sasquatch rampage through a small town. Briskly paced and entertaining, Brown delivers exactly what he promises, with a storyteller's heart—unless some creature ate it first.”

- Scott Nicholson, author of They Hunger

The Coscom Entertainment Zombie, Monster, Mash Up and Superhero Books

Please go to www.coscomentertainment.com for a plot synopsis and more information on the books. All are available in eBook and paperback at your favorite online retailer. Thanks.

Monster Novella Series

The Weaponer by Eric S. Brown

The Black Cat and the Ghoul by Edgar Allan Poe and Keith Gouveia

Zombie Books:

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Zombie Jim by Mark Twain and W. Bill Czolgosz

Alice in Zombieland by Lewis Carroll and Nickolas Cook

Axiom-man: The Dead Land by A.P. Fuchs

Bits of the Dead edited by Keith Gouveia and illustrated by Sean Simmans

Blood of the Dead by A.P. Fuchs

Dead Science edited by A.P. Fuchs

Don of the Dead by Nick Cato

Possession of the Dead by A.P. Fuchs

Praise the Dead by Gina Ranalli

Revolt of the Dead by Keith Gouveia

R.I.P. by Harrison Howe

Robin Hood and Friar Tuck: Zombie Killers by Paul A. Freeman

The Black Cat and the Ghoul by Edgar Allan Poe and Keith Gouveia

The Lifeless by Lorne Dixon

The Undead World of Oz by L. Frank Baum and Ryan C. Thomas

The War of the Worlds Plus Blood, Guts and Zombies by H.G. Wells and Eric S. Brown

The Weaponer by Eric S. Brown

World War of the Dead by Eric S. Brown

Vicious Verses and Reanimated Rhymes: Zany Zombie Poetry for the Undead Head edited by A.P. Fuchs

Zombie Fight Night: Battles of the Dead by A.P. Fuchs

Zombifrieze by W. Bill Czolgosz and Sean Simmans

Other Monster and Horror Books:

Animal Behavior and Other Tales of Lycanthropy by Keith Gouveia

Anna Karnivora: A Vampire Novel by W. Bill Czolgosz

Bigfoot War by Eric S. Brown

Bigfoot War 2: Dead in the Woods by Eric S. Brown

Born to Bleed by Ryan C. Thomas

Discovery of Death (Blood of my World, Book One) by A.P. Fuchs

Dracula by Bram Stoker, Illustrated by Sean Simmans with an Introduction by Nancy Kilpatrick

Emma and the Werewolves by Jane Austen and Adam Rann

Hound: The Curse of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Lorne Dixon

Life of Death (Blood of my World, Book Three) by A.P. Fuchs

Magic Man Plus 15 Tales of Terror by A.P. Fuchs

Memories of Death (Blood of my World, Book Two) by A.P. Fuchs

Snarl by Lorne Dixon

The Summer I Died by Ryan C. Thomas

Superhero Books:

Axiom-man (The Axiom-man Saga, Book 1) by A.P. Fuchs

First Night Out (The Axiom-man Saga, Episode No. 0) by A.P. Fuchs

Doorway of Darkness (The Axiom-man Saga, Book 2) by A.P. Fuchs

The Dead Land (The Axiom-man Saga, Episode No. 1) by A.P. Fuchs

The Wraith by Frank Dirscherl

Valley of Evil (The Wraith Series, Book 2) by Frank Dirscherl

Cult of the Damned (The Wraith Series, Book 3) by Frank Dirscherl

Bookazines:

Dry Ice Dreams (Bumper Sticker Shine No. 1) by A.P. Fuchs

The Macro Mechanic’s Manifesto (Bumper Sticker Shine No. 2) by A.P. Fuchs

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