The fog was thick as the sun began to rise over Chestnut river. Bits of light burned their way through the fog, making odd shapes that swirled and danced.

“I have four shamblers near the store.” Mark whispered.

The handheld on his shoulder squawked softly and a female voice replied, “Keep an eye out. We will move in five.”

“Damn fog.” Mark muttered pulling his jacket close to him. He bent his head and looked back through the scope of his rifle.

The valley below him looked peaceful in the morning light. The fog was slowly lifting and burning away. On the far side of the river was the gas station he had found the night before. The windows were boarded up, and he could see no sign of forced entry. The road in front of it was also clear. The station had been built into the side of a mountain. A small two-way street ran in front of it. This was ideal!
It was far enough away from town that it appeared untouched.

He counted the moving figures again. Four total, most likely from a nearby house or farm. He adjusted the scope to get a better look. Two men, a boy, and an elderly-looking woman. Not that you could really judge the age of the dead. It was early on when scientists found out that they decayed differently than non-infected. He adjusted his scope and focused in on the boy.

“More of a teenager.” he thought. The teens head lolled unnaturally to its side. The left side of its face was badly scarred. The thing turned its head in his direction, sunken eyes looking at his hiding spot. Its mouth fell open and emitted a moan. The sound carried itself across the river sending a shiver up Mark’s spine. No matter how many times he had heard the moan, it still made him uncomfortable.

“How the hell did it know? ” Mark thought as he squeezed the trigger. The sound of the rifle rung in his ears. He watched as the teens head explode into a black mist. Bits of brain splattering the wall behind it.

He spoke into his two way. “Move in now, before we have the whole town on us.” The town itself was two miles down the road, that gave them about thirty minutes before the largest group showed up. It was the roamers in the area that could cause an issue. Those that would be drawn to the sound. Still, they had not witnessed many nearby, so they should have plenty of time.

He looked back through the scope and watched the other three shamblers raise their arms and turn to look down the road. Their mouths opening and closing, snapping at the air. Each one, in turn, fell to the ground and the ring of gunshots filled the valley. He watched as a jeep pulled up and two figures got out. One was a large man who had a shaved head. He wore a leather jacket with a burning skull on the back. The other a fit redheaded woman who, even in the cold, wore only a faded blue tank top. On her hip was an empty holster, in her hand a .357 magnum.

Mark spoke into his two way again. “Janet, Paul, make this quick. That cannon she used will have every shambler in the area down on us.”

“Shut it Mark. You already woke up the valley so what does it matter?”

“Fair enough. Just make it quick and watch your back.”

“You watch it for me City.”

Mark chuckled at the use of his nickname. After the first outbreak he had fled from place to place scavenging to stay alive. Janet had found him hiding in the bathroom of a Radison hotel. The rest, as they say, was history. For the next year he had traveled with her, Paul and the twenty other refugees that had fled and survived after Knoxville fell.

He shook his head and started scanning the road near the station. “All clear.” he said into the mic as he focused back on the jeep. He was just in time to see Paul rip one of the boards off the window. He tossed it aside. The window behind was already shattered. Paul took a flashlight from his pocket and shined it inside.

Mark watched from his vantage point as Paul moved forward. Terror filled him as gray hands reached through the broken window and pulled Paul down onto the jagged glass. Even through the scope he made out the spurt of blood as Paul’s neck was ripped. His life blood draining away. Janet’s scream covered the distance between them.

“Oh shit oh shit!” Her voice sounded over the two way.

“Get out of there!” Mark screamed as he focused on the broken window and fired blindly into the dark.

He watched as Janet ran for the jeep and jumped inside. From out of the station the first shambler appeared. Mark took a breath and pulled the trigger. The zombie’s head shot back and the body crumpled on top of Paul’s. He watched as Janet pulled onto the street and started away. Just as another form appeared through the broken glass.

Her voice came over the two way: “Pull back and meet at the bridge. ”

He quickly replied, “On it! ”

Mark looked into his scope and scanned the road up toward the small two way bridge. Trying to make sure all was clear for his extraction.

“What the?” he said out loud as he focused in. The bridge was writhing with the dead. Four deep and covering the length. All standing, arms raised in the direction where Janet was coming from.

“Where the hell did they come from?” He then saw the leaf-covered ground surging up in the field behind the bridge. Skeletal hands reached up through the ground and heads appeard from out of the piles of leaves. His heart sunk as he watched more and more rise up. Never before had he seen them come out of the ground.

“A trap?”

“Impossible!” his mind screamed as he looked on.

He heard the tires screech from across the river. The Jeep skidding into view. Focusing in on the Jeep he saw Janet stand in her seat and pull the .357 from its holster. Shots rang out and four bodies dropped.

He gazed through the scope as the mass of moaning figures moved toward the jeep. Janet holstered the magnum and pulled a shotgun from the back seat. Two more shots and two more dropped. The mass moved forward closing the distance. They were a cars length away when Janet dropped down, back behind the wheel.

“Get out of there!” Mark screamed into the morning air. Knowing well she couldn’t hear him.

The jeep started to back up and turn but she misjudged and the back end of the jeep dropped off the edge of the road. The front tires raised off the asphalt as the jeep slid toward the river.

Mark looked on in horror as the first of the undead reached the jeep. Their arms reaching and tearing at her, trying to pull her down. He saw her mouth open in a scream, but the sound was covered by the roar of the undead moans.

Mark fired a shot taking one in the head. Quickly he reloaded and fired again. Two down but it was not enough. They piled around her and her small form disappeared in the mass of rotted flesh.

“No!” The words tore from his throat as he lowered the rifle and
threw it across his shoulder. He looked around for an escape route.
The sound of crunching leaves made him spin back. His eyes froze on a
group of five heading up the hill toward him. Their mouths opened and
in unison they moaned. He pulled his pistol, and tried to take aim.
His hands shook uncontrollably. He squeezed off a shot and blew a
hole in one of their necks. The undead didn’t waiver. Their moans
seemed to get louder as they grasped the air in front of them. He
fired another shot. This one took the lead shambler in the face and
dropped it to the ground.

He turned toward the river and his legs started to move. Down toward
the river he ran. His chest heaving from fear and cold. He dropped his
rifle and jacket, loosened his belt so it would not weigh him down. He
jumped and took a deep breath as he fell toward the river.

The icy water wrapped around him as he landed. His body shook as he
submerged, begging him to suck in the clear fluid and give up. He
fought to hold on against the shock. Forcing himself to grab upwards
toward the surface. He thrashed under the water, kicking and reaching
as he struggled for the surface. The morning light blinded his eyes as
the cold water and air met. He gagged, choking in air. Shaking his
head, he tried to clear it and focus. He knew camp was down river about 5
miles, so he let the current take him. Willing his cold muscles to
respond to his command, he kicked weakly and forced his lungs to slow
his breathing.

Up ahead the bridge covered with shamblers came into view, their moans
filling his ears. Dead eyes loocked in his direction arms
outstretched.

“Damn good thing they can’t swim.” he thought as he floated beneath
them. He grabbed a hold of a floating tree limb and used it to give
his muscles a rest. Behind him he heard the moaning of the dead as
their lifeless eyes watched him float away.

****

Mark’s eyes fluttered open as ruff hands grabbed at him. He struggled
briefly before he recognized a voice.

“Mark calm down man. What happened – where’s Janet?” His eyes came into
focus on the bearded face of Walter. A man from his refugee camp. His
tried to will his voice to speak but nothing came.

“Come on man, you’ll catch your death,” Walter stated. He picked Mark
up and carried him toward a fire flickering in the distance. Mark
nodded off, voices coming and going in his ears. His body jostled,
then put on the hard earth. Finally, a sense of warmth and release. He
awoke some time later not knowing how much time had passed.

“Well we are in for it now. That jeep was the only remaining vehicle
with gas. Not to mention we are down two people and guns.” It was
Walter speaking to Anna. Anna was a young woman who looked twice her
age. At the age of 20 she already had crows feet and grays showing in
her normally jet black hair.

“I know, but worse off we are running low on food. We haven’t seen any
animals and all the places we have raided have only given us some
supplies. It’s bad,” Anna replied, her head dropping.

Mark tried to lift his head and to tell them what happened. He
couldn’t move. His muscles were cramped and his throat dry. To much
time in cold water to much adrenaline spent. His eyes shut and he
drifted again. He dreamed. In his dream he saw Janet. Her small form
being ripped at by decayed hands. Her struggle against them then her
eyes turning black as the life faded away.

His dream view changed and he was above a city. He watched as
shamblers moved in and out of buildings. He watched as they faked
being alive. Their moans feeling his dream ears.

Then his mind wheeled. The barricaded window, the dead showing up on
the bridge, rising from the ground beyond. They even went after Janet
when Paul’s body lay there for the feeding.

He awoke and his cramped muscles screamed as he sat up. All around him
the dead moved. Some were carrying rocks and limbs, bashing the
refugees and leaving them lying on the ground helpless. He saw Walter
brandishing a sword and screaming at the top of his lungs as he swung
at his attackers. A valiant fight but in vain – one came from behind,
and Walter crumpled from a blow to his head. There was no sign of Anna.
Mark hoped she had escaped. Maybe saved some of the children. He knew
he was done for. He finally understood. The dead were also getting
ready for winter. Instinct born of not understanding. They didn’t need
food, but here they were, harvesting it and saving it. Just as if
they were alive. Food for the masses. A feast for winter.

The thought ripped through his mind just in time to see a bloodied
rock, grasped in a rotted claw, swing toward his head.