R E B E C C A

I pour myself a bowl of cereal and turn on the kitchen radio, sitting in my chair at the table to eat.
The radio crackles with static for a second, then starts playing one of Randy Travis's more popular songs.
The song is about halfway through, when it's interrupted by a static-y emergency broadcast.
"Kkhhhh-- getting reports of-- bies... Kkkhhhh- kh-- out now! I repeat-- out-- khhhhhhhhh..........."
The broadcast fades into static, leaving me with an uneasy feeling in my stomach.
"Charlie?" I call, my cereal forgotten. "Charlie, come here."
My brother comes in a minute later, pulling a dark blue T-shirt on over his muscled torso.
"What's up, Becs?"
I lick my lips and motion to the radio, which is putting out white noise.
"There was something really weird on the emergency broadcast system. I could barely hear it, but it said to get out now. I don't know what it means, but... I don't like it."

Charlie frowns and picks up the small radio, adjusting the antenna.
A few seconds later the broadcast comes back online, where we can hear it.

"Again: we have been getting reports of sick individuals running loose in Atlanta and other nearby cities. Do not attempt to approach the infected. Signs of infection are fever, moaning, pale eyes, fatigue, and delirium.
If possible, get out now. Take your loved ones and valuables with you and evacuate to a safe location. I repeat, evacuate to a safe location. This is not a drill.
What was that? Bill, wait, don't open- no- they're in! They're -"

The radio cuts out again, leaving the warning hanging in the air.
I slowly turn my head to face Charlie and rise to my feet.
Charlie's face is drawn and pale, his mismatched yellow and green eyes widened.
"T-they can't be... Serious, can they?" I whisper.
Charlie doesn't reply except to say "go pack your duffel bag. Now."

I jog up the stairs to my bedroom and pull my mid-length brown hair into a ponytail with a scrunchie.
Then I jerk my burgundy duffel bag out of the closet and load it with four changes of clothes, a few things from my bathroom, and some generic supplies such as a notepad, pen, and flashlight. My Leatherman Wingman is on my dresser, and I stuff it in my pocket on the way out of the room.

Charlie has a bag of his own, and is waiting in the car for me.
"Put your bag in the backseat with you, Rebecca," he says. "And buckle your seatbelt."

A few seconds later, we're driving away from the only home I've ever known.
"What about Dad?" I ask. "Do you think he heard the warning from his office?"

Charlie shakes his head, not looking away from the road, which is beginning to get crowded. "I don't know. I'm going to try to pick him up."
I can hear the tension in his voice as he turns our van down another, slightly less crowded street.

The car in front of us slams it's brakes suddenly, nearly causing us to crash into it's rear.
The driver's hand comes out the window, and signals for us to back up.
Charlie reverses carefully, keeping an eye on the car.

Something slams into it's hood, then another. Soon, the whole car is surrounded by pale, crazy people, pounding on its windows and... Growling.

"Charlie..." I whimper. "Charlie, get us out of here."
He reaches a hand back and places it on my knee and he directs us back onto the main road, away from the doomed vehicle and it's driver.
"Just stay calm, Rebecca. The worst thing we could do right now is panic."
His words are reassuring, but by the way his voice is trembling, I can tell he's just as terrified as I am, and just as close to panicking.

Farther down behind us, someone scream, and I can hear the horrible growling of the infected. The traffic has come to a stop, and by the volume of the screams, the infected aren't too far behind us.

Charlie throws his door open and hops out, sliding the van's main door wide and snatching our bags.
"Rebecca, come on! The car isn't safe anymore. We need to leave on foot."

I fumble with my seatbelt for a second before removing it and getting out of the car. My heart is beating so fast it hurts.
I follow Charlie as he weaves between cars, shouting at people to follow us. Some do, some stay in their vehicles.

"Where are we going?" One man asks. Charlie shakes his head as he jogs away from the highway. "Away from the road. The road is a death trap."

Our small group runs in silence for a half hour before stopping at a small cabin in the forest. When we all stop to catch our breath and rest, I'm able to do a quick head count. Five people followed us, two adults and three kids. My guess is they're a family. One family.

Charlie and the man do a walk through of the cabin before letting the rest of us in.

I lay down on the dusty pallet in the bedroom and massage the stitch in my side.
The mother and her three kids come in with me and sit against the walls, silent.
"So... Hi," the girl says. I take a second to look her over. She has shaggy, rough-cut brown hair that hangs to her shoulders and falls into her eyes, which are yellow.
"Hi," I eventually say.
The girl licks her lips a little and forces a small smile. "I'm Owl. This is my brother, Hawk, and his twin, Peregrine."

I offer a wave. "Rebecca. My brother is Charlie."

As if he heard his name, Charlie walks in and deposits our bags on the floor near me. "You okay, Becs?" He asks quietly.
I nod. "Just tired. I've never run that far, especially not uphill."

He seems satisfied. "Okay, then," he says, talking louder. "Gregory and I are going to look around. You guys stay here."
He lowers his voice again and leans close to my ear. "There's a loaded gun in my bag. Only use it if you have to."

I nod nervously and pull myself into a sitting position, with my back against the wall. My hand rests lightly on top of Charlie's bag.

The woman, who I assume is Owl's mother, stands up and exits the room. "I'll be right back. You four stay here."
Owl nods and puts her arm around Peregrine.

I wait until the woman is gone before speaking.
"So... You're all named after birds?" I ask. Hawk shakes his head a bit, making his scruffy brown hair shake, too. "Technically, no. They're nicknames, but we call each other by them so often, they're practically our names.
But yeah, my actual name is James. Peregrine's is Lucy."

Owl sinks lower against the wall and seems to scowl. "Shut up, Hawk."
He sighs, shooting me an apologetic glance, his yellow eyes glinting in the light. "Owl does most of her sleeping during the day. It's sort of a medical condition. When she's in sunlight for long periods she gets, like, super cranky."
He pauses and looks to the door, as if making sure the woman hasn't returned.
"She doesn't like it when anyone mentions the name 'Lucy.' The woman with us, Rachel, is our stepmom. Our birth mother, Lucy, died when Owl was six. They had a strong bond. That's what Dad says."

Owl glares at her brother and - to my surprise - bares her teeth. "I said shut up, Hawk!" She says angrily.
Hawk furrows his brow and stands up, coming to sit closer to me. "Take a nap, Owl," he snaps. Owl doesn't reply.

We sit in silence until we hear a short scream from outside, not far from the cabin.
I grab Charlie's gun from the bag and flip the safety off, Dad's training instincts flooding my brain.
"Don't follow me," I whisper. "And be quiet."

I exit the room, heading for the door. A sprinkle of rain has begun, misting my cheeks as I step off the porch.
In the low brush beside the cabin, I can see Rachel lying in the grass, eyes wide and blank. There's a smear of blood on her cheek.

Crouched beside her, making wet noises, is a thin, pale person in a tattered business suit.
"Hey," I call. "Who are you?"

The crouched person turns to face me, revealing a sagging face, barely supported by a bloody, ripped out throat. They stagger towards me, bloodstained hands outstretched.

For a second I freeze, a strangled yelp stuck in my throat.
Then I raise the gun and fire two shots into the - the only word I can think of is zombie - 's chest.

It keeps coming.

My aim shifts, and I release two more shots right between it's eyes.
It crumples to the ground, silent, a black trickle of blood leaking from it's forehead.

I sink to my knees in the now-heavy rain and vomit, my body trembling.
Rachel is still in the brush, dead, her abdomen ripped open and leaking red blood.
My body folds in the middle, and I press my forehead into the muddy ground, the gun lying in the grass beside me.
A minute later, I hear footsteps running towards me, and Charlie's hands grip my shoulders, pulling me upright.

"Rebecca! I heard the gunshots. Are you okay? What happened?"
I lean against his chest and shiver, unable to speak.
Gregory shows up a few seconds later, and his eyes immediately go to his dead wife.

He doesn't speak.

Charlie guides me inside and sets me on the bed, kneeling in front of me.

"Rebecca, tell me what happened. Are you hurt?"

I shake my head, swallowing thickly and taking a deep, shuddering breath.
"W-we heard a scream, and I went outside to see what was going on, and.... And she was dead, and he was on top of her... I had to shoot him, but Charlie... Charlie it was Dad."