Screams.

Screams fill my dream. Horrible painful cries ring through the air sounding far away, yet close enough to make my skin crawl. I can't tell where they are coming from, but they seem to be getting closer and closer until one pierces my ears, startling me awake.

I sit up straight in my bed, running my fingers through my hair, brushing the messy blonde waves away from my face. Sweat beads at my temples and drenches my body, making the material of my shirt stick uncomfortably to my back. My heart refuses to calm from its rapid beating, no matter how many deep breaths I take. The dream felt so real--the leave-my-body-trembling kind of real. Shaking my head, I try to erase the sound of the screams from my dream, but they continue to replay in my mind.

"Get out of my head," I say, massaging the sides of my skull. It's normal for people to talk to themselves, right?

I glance around my room, forgetting that I was back home for the weekend. I attend college at a university only two hours away from my hometown. I visit when I can and on this particular weekend I had to get away. It is nice to not be cramped inside that small-ass dorm room with a weird girl that constantly talks about how the end was near. Yeah, right.

Trying to distract myself doesn't work. The screams inside my head get louder, almost as if they are right outside my window. Another sound joins the internal screams and my heart races even faster as I hear tires squeal against the pavement outside.

Throwing back the comforter on my bed, I spring to the window, my fingers slicing between the blinds. My eyes dart left and right through the crack as my breath fogged up the glass. The window of my room is on the side of the house, but in the distance I can see the road that curves, leading away from our neighborhood. A car drives erratically around the corner, disappearing from my sight.

Then a woman runs into my vision, sprinting across the field next to the house. Blood soaks her clothes and terror fills her features. My heart had been racing before, but now it completely stops as if someone controlling my body had stomped on the brakes. I don't even breathe as I watch the woman run away from the neighborhood, vanishing around the bend in the road.

Then I remember the scream that startled me awake. Realization dawns on me.

Shit.

It wasn't a dream at all.

I back away from the window, nausea rolling through my stomach.

"Mom!" I yell, spinning towards my door. "Dad!"

When I get no answer, I rush through my door, out into the hallway, and down the stairs, the hem of my very over-sized white T-shirt tickling my naked legs.

When I get to the bottom of our wide oak staircase, I know something is wrong. The house is too quiet. Way too quiet. Every morning since I can remember I wake up to two things. One--Mom trying to make breakfast in the kitchen. The scent of burnt pancakes and eggs always manage to fill up the entire house. Two--Dad belting classic rock songs during whatever he was doing, whether it is showering, taking out the trash, or organizing his record collection. Even though I am barely home anymore, when I am there, they carry on, truly making me feel like I am home again.

I stand there, praying for Mom's cooking attempt to hit me or for Dad's off-tune vocals to reach my ear. No whiff of food comes my way. All I can hear is a completely dead, utterly scary silence.

"Mom?" I ask again, my voice echoing off of the walls. "Dad?"

Tremors shake my hands and knees as I walk towards the kitchen. I wonder whether I should call out for them again in case they can't hear me. Then again, I have seen enough scary movies that I figure it is probably smartest to keep my mouth shut and make as little noise as possible. Visions of the bloody woman down the road fill my mind and my face starts to clam up.

Pressing my hand against the swinging door that separates our dining room from our kitchen, I slowly press it open. The scaredy-cat inside of me claws to the surface as I brace myself for something to jump out at me. My shoulders tense and my eyes narrow. I relax the tiniest bit when I see that the kitchen is empty. My eyes trail from the closed refrigerator, across the breakfast nook, and to the vacant stove-top. There is no sign that anyone has even been in the kitchen.

Just when I am about to turn around and go find my phone, a flash of red catches my eye. A couple of feet away from me, a puddle of blood contrasts violently against the white tiled floor. I stumble backwards into the door, almost falling through it until I brace my hands on the frame, pulling my body back up.

My heart pounds so hard in my chest, I feel like it will burst. Adrenaline takes over my body. My shaking hands wind themselves into my hair, my head shaking back and forth.

This can't be happening.

The screams. The car. The woman. My parents. The blood. Something terrible is going on.

My eyes widen as I notice the edge of the puddle is smeared into the floor, trailing past the stove and around the counter, disappearing. Forcing my legs to move, I tiptoe to the drawer next to the stove and pull out the first knife I grab. I can't see myself actually using it. I was never a fighter. I always take the first opportunity to fly. Nevertheless, I feel more at ease with a weapon in my hand.

"Come on, Desi," I whisper to myself. "Grow a pair."

Time ticks by so slowly as I follow the trail to the other door of the kitchen, the one leading to the back hallway. I creep to the door and press my ear against the wood, trying to hear for any movement, talking, anything at this point. I hear sluggish footsteps on the other side and a dragging sound, almost as if the person walking is dragging their feet behind them. Gathering up all the courage that I can, I grab the doorknob and twist, slowly opening the door. In the hall with her back to me, is Mom. My grip on the knife loosens, sending it clattering to the floor.

"Mom!" I yell, my voice filling with relief. "I've been calling for you! There's blood all..." My voice trails as I become unable to speak, taking in the scene in front of me.

The blood carried and spread from the kitchen into the hallway, making a trail to her dragging feet which were also caked in scarlet. As my eyes move up Mom's body, I spot where the blood is coming from.

Slowly, she turns around to face me, revealing the mess. Blood streams out of every hole on her face, caking into the ends of her matted blonde hair at her shoulders. When her eyes met mine, her breathing increases rapidly. I step towards her but she reaches out an arm to stop me.

"I don't know why this is happening," Mom says, her voice rough and scratchy. "I took the vaccine like they told me to do. This shouldn't be happening to me."

I take a step forward and she panics.

"Don't!" she yells, her eyes widening, more tears of blood running down her cheeks. "Do not come any closer. You could catch it!" A fit of coughing overcomes her, blood spewing out of her mouth.

"We have to get you to a hospital," I say frantically, trying to keep my voice calm, but failing miserably. "Where's Dad?" I step towards her again, my arms reaching out for her.

Mom quickly jerks away, stepping back into the wall behind her. "A hospital can't help me. No one can help me." More blood runs down from her nose and eyes. Her body is quivering. "You need to help yourself and get out of this house."

"Stop it," I say, continuing to step forward. "You're scaring me. Where is Dad?" My voice starts to shake and my stomach tightens with unease.

"Your dad..." Mom's voice gives out as she curls into the wall, away from me. She clears her throat. "Your dad is upstairs. He felt as bad as I did this morning. Do not go up there. I'm going to tell you one last time to get out of this house."

"Tell me what's going on!" My hands are shaking. If I was scared before, now I am terrified. "I can't just leave you here to bleed to death! Stay here, I'm getting you a rag and I'm calling an ambulance."

Just as I turn to race back into the kitchen, Mom's scream stopps me dead in my tracks. I spin back around and watch her body crumble to the floor as if she is a rag doll, her knees and head knocking against the wood floor with a deafening crack. I am paralyzed where I stand. I can't run to help her, or even see if she is okay. I can't run like she begged me to do just a moment ago. I just stand there, motionless, trying to gulp down air that refuses to fill my lungs. I am useless.

I am sure she is dead. I am so positive that I just saw my mother die in front of me from something that was supposed to prevent her death. I'm not sure how long I stand there, numb and stupid. It could have been seconds or minutes that went by before anything happens.

Mom's head twitches, making my heart start beating again, and slowly lifts to look at me. The first thing I notice that is different are her eyes. The sky blue eyes she had passed down to me, darkens into a midnight black, her pupils dilating over her irises. Her gaze stares into mine with a hunger that I only recognize in animals.

I step backwards, knowing that whatever is going on with Mom is definitely something that I need to get away from, fast, just like she had told me to do. When she sees my movement, she lets loose a growl and jumps onto her feet like she was never sick in the first place. Whoever this is in front of me, isn't my mother anymore. No, she is gone and in her place is something unimaginable. She inhales deeply as if she is getting my scent and screams as she leaps towards me, snapping her jaw like a carnivorous beast.

I turn, slamming into the door of the kitchen and run, my bare feet slapping hard against the tile floor. I slip in the puddle of blood, falling hard to my knees, my wrists hyper-extending painfully as I brace my fall. Mom falls onto the floor behind me. I scramble, feeling Mom's fingernails graze my ankles as she tries to grab for me. I kick one leg backwards, knocking my heel against her jaw.

As Mom flies back, I get to my feet and run through the swinging door, through the dining room, and into the living room, leaving a trail of bloody footprints in my wake. In a moment of overwhelming need to get away, I run for the stairs, not even thinking about the fact that Mom  told me Dad was up there. I hear Mom barrel through the kitchen door, growling and snarling as she races after me. Just as I reach the top floor, her struggling on the stairs reaches my ear. I dare to glance behind me and the terrifying sight of seeing her practically crawling up after me is enough to push me forward into a sprint towards my bedroom.

I slam my door shut behind me, using all of my strength to push my dresser in front of the door, hoping it will hold her back. I spin around, spotting my cell phone on the nightstand next to my bed. Ripping the charger out, I quickly dial the emergency hotline and hold the phone against my ear. The sound I hear on the other end made my blood run cold. The monotonous beep of a busy signal fills my ear. I drop the phone to the floor with a thud, feeling too many things at once.

I want to scream. I want to curl into a ball under my bed and hope for the best. I want to wake up from this bad dream. Most of all, I want to cry. But I can't. Right now, the only thought running through my head is: survival, survival, survival.

A furious pounding against my door snaps me out of my stupor. I circle my room as if my escape will magically appear. A second pair of fists joins the first, as the door starts to crack. A pair of screams ring out on the other side, one of them deeper than the other's.

Dad has joined Mom.

**

A/N: Thanks for reading chapter 1 of Infection. If you like what you read, leave a comment or give it a vote. Be sure to add the story to your library if you want to be notified of updates.

Old chapters are also being republished and are marked as "(old)"

Question time!

Did you read the original Infection? If so, what did you think of the changes? Based on hints within the chapter, how do you think the infection started? Will Desi get out alive?