Beginning of the End

Outside the sun has finally set, causing the already frigid temperature to drop even farther. Though the windows are boarded up, the shift in the air is still perceptible indoors, where Abigail is downstairs trying to put together a small meal with what little food they have.

Upstairs, Allison continues to dress Rita's wounds while Brian watches, helping whenever possible. Thankfully, as far as they can tell, they had overreacted before. Though the gash in her forehead is deep, and she most likely has a concussion, she seems to be getting better before their eyes.

After accessing the damage, they stitched her wounds as best they could and washed the blood from her hair.

Now, as Allison is wrapping a bandage around another nasty scratch on her forearm, she glances up at Brian. "Is she your daughter?" she asks, still curious about their relationship. She doesn't particularly know why she cares. Allison isn't the nosy type; she never gets into other people's personal business, but she sums it up as paranoia.

"No," he says, "she's my niece." When he doesn't look her in the eye, she wonders if he's lying to her, but she doesn't press the matter.

"The rest of your family?" she asks, though she is sure she knows the answer.

"Dead," he answers, as she knew he would. This time she sees the sincerity in his eyes that was missing moments ago; however the words come out cold and bitter. He's angry, she notes, like her.

"Mine too," Allison responds, putting the finishing touches on Rita's arm. "How long has she been out now, you think?"

Brian sighs heavily, finally lifting his eyes to hers. "Well, it happened about ten minutes before you guys showed up, so maybe an hour?" he guesses, scratching at the light five o'clock shadow that now covers his jaw. "She tends to mentally shutdown anytime she gets hurt or upset. About a month ago, we found a stray dog wandering around outside a store. She got so excited that she scared him and he bit her. She fainted on the spot and when she woke up, she refused to talk about it."

Allison laughs, although she isn't quite sure that is an appropriate reaction to his story. She studies his face when he smiles in response, noticing for the first time how handsome he is. Aside from his stunning eyes, he has high, defined cheekbones, full lips, and a strong, masculine jawline.

"Thank you again, by the way. I appreciate what you guys did," he says, "especially considering most people would have just left us there."

Allison's smile falters as she considers telling him that the thought had crossed her mind to do just that - leave them there. If it weren't for Abigail, she probably would have.

The door opens unexpectedly, knocking Allison out of her thoughts. "Did you guys hear that?" The younger woman's face is etched with worry.

"No. Hear what?" Brian furrows his eyebrows as he stands up swiftly, obviously thinking they are under attack. Just as he gets to his feet, thunder rolls in the clouds hard enough to make the house vibrate and pulse.

"That," Abigail answers, latching on to Allison's arm.

Brian laughs, clearly relieved. "Its just thunder," he says. "We could use some rain."

Allison shakes her head at him, giving him a look as though she's trying to tell him something without actually speaking.

Abigail's expression seems to fall farther as she blinks at him, and he can't help but to voice his curiosity. "You're afraid of storms," it comes out as a statement, but the look in her face tells him that it's not fear that she's feeling.

Allison sighs, wrapping an arm around her friend, "No, it's-"

Abigail cuts her off before she can tell Brian it's nothing, or at least nothing for him to ask her about. Allison has always been a closed book. There are things about her that even Abigail, whom she trusts completely, doesn't know about. Abigail, on the other hand, has always been one to open up.

"Its okay," she says, pulling away from Allison. "Really, I'm fine." She looks at Brian and smiles sadly. "Storms remind of the night my family died. Its gotten better, but I can't sleep or sit still during a storm; it makes me anxious."



-Flashback: February 2014

Abigail's in her dorm room studying for a philosophy test when her mother calls to tell her that, Nathan, her six-year-old brother, is sick with a case of the flu. It's no big deal. Just a few shots and pills will have him better in a week or two.

Then, when he winds up in the hospital after coughing up blood, Abigail hops on the first plane back to Philadelphia.

He comes home later that week, still sick, but he seems better than he was. Maybe just a little tired. What's odd to Abigail is the amount of people that are in the hospital over this virus. It's just the flu, isn't it?

The night before Abigail is set to go back to New York, a storm moves through. Abigail lays in her old bedroom, listening to the sound of rain hitting the windows as thunder rolls and lightening clashes in the dark night sky. She has just fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep when a high pitched wail startles her into a sitting position, her clothes and hair sticking to her sweaty skin. "Mom?"

Abigail throws the heavy blankets off, wiping the perspiration from her upper lip. She moves swiftly, nearly sliding across the hardwood floors because of her socks. She kicks them off, cursing under her breath just as she hears another scream, but this one is almost completely masked by another bolt of lightening that momentarily brightens the room. She flings open the bedroom door and bolts downstairs where she finds her mother stretched out over her brother's limp form, her father on his knees in front of them.

"What's wrong?" she asks, racing to them, her stomach in knots as her heart beats in an uneven rhythm.

Her father looks at her, his eyes bloodshot. "He's dead," he answers simply.

Numb. She goes numb. She senses tears on her face, but she doesn't really feel them. She hears her mother's broken sobs, but she can't bring herself to react. She merely stares at her father; she hasn't taken her eyes off of him since he said those words.

When Abigail's trance is finally broken, she finds herself leaning against the wall, one hand propping herself up as her other tangles in her dark hair. "Wh- how? I thought... He can't... but-" The words come out in between the sobs that have her body shaking violently. She can't form a coherent thought, let alone a question.

She falls to the floor beside her mother, her hands trembling as she warily slides closer. Just then, her brother's hand twitches and his eyes open, casting an inhuman stare in her direction. "Mom," she gasps, slumping backwards.

Abigail's words go unheard as her brother growls at her before leaning forward and sinking his teeth into their mother's neck. A strangled cry erupts from the woman's mouth as fresh, hot blood sprays across the child's face.

"Mom!" Abigail jumps to her feet as her father finally reacts, pushing her back as he rises to a standing position. His eyes are wide, shock and terror clearly etched across his face.

"Debra?" He takes a step forward as she grasps at her wound, still clinging to her youngest child, even as he continues his assault. Nathan claws at her arms, only relenting when his father rips him from his mother's firm hold.

Abigail is frozen again, her eyes glued to the macabre scene unfolding before her tear-filled eyes. It occurs to her that she should call the police, but the only movement she finds herself capable of is slow, tiny steps backwards.

Nathan screams violently as scratches his father's arms, so hard and relentless in his attack that his nails tear at the quick. Debra watches helplessly, growing faint from blood loss.

"Nathan," Abigail breathes his name, confused and fearful. Starting at his sister blankly, his once ocean-green eyes are now so black she can't tell where his pupils end and his irises begin.

Her father falls to the floor, gripping his son's arms high above his head. "Run," he rasps, his voice almost unrecognizable. The boy snaps forward, trying his best to get to the flesh only inches from his teeth. "Go to the neighbor's house and call 9-1-1. Now!"

"We have a phone-"

"Abigail, just listen to me, please. I don't know what this is and I want you somewhere safe!" She can tell her father is struggling to keep it together. He's always been the strong, take-charge type of man, but now she can see the panic in his eyes, and it absolutely terrifies her.

With one last glance at her mother, who now appears to be unconscious - or at least Abigail hopes that's all it is - she complies. Running to the door, she doesn't bother to put shoes or a coat, despite the cold and the heavy downpour. The lights flicker momentarily as she heads outside into the raging storm, noticing out of the corner of her eye as the power goes completely out .

The sharp, cold wind does nothing to help her momentum as she runs as fast as her legs will carry her. Despite the sheer terror of the situation, she still notices the freezing water that pours down her entire body, drenching her clothes and sending painful shivers throughout her body.

Abigail forces herself to keep moving and finally reaches the closest neighbor's house. She pounds on the front door with her fists, screaming loudly in the hopes of being heard over the storm.

The door opens slowly and she immediately lets herself in, not bothering to wait to be invited. "What the hell?"

Steven Welbourn, a man in his late-to-mid mid fifties, has never been the overly friendly type. In fact, when Abigail's family first moved in to their newly built home down the otherwise empty dead-end road twelve years prior, he had flipped them off and shut the door in their faces when they tried to introduce themselves. Afterwards, he just avoided them as though they were the plague itself.

"Please, Mr. Welbourn," she cries, "I need to use your phone. My brother... he's sick. And he..." She can't say it. She doesn't even know how to explain what just happened. What did just happen?

The man pulls himself from her grip and walks around her, shaking his head. "The phone is in here, little girl. Why didn't you just use the one at your house?" She ignores his questions, following after him swiftly.





Brian nods understandingly, his thumbs doing a strange dance as he absorbs the story. He's knows what it's like - losing everyone you love. It's something everyone knows now. If you're still breathing, you have a heartbreaking story of your own.

Allison squeezes her friend's hand in support as her eyes watch Brian's reaction carefully, wondering what he's thinking at the moment.

"By the time the police got there it was too late," Abigail continues. "My parents were both... they both were infected. The police had to..." Her voice cracks, then trails off. Again, Brian understands; she doesn't have to explain it. Once infected, her parents would have behaved the same as her brother. How the police responded to the situation didn't need to be explained.

"Nathan was one of the first ones to attack someone, you know," Abigail says, a tear sliding down her pale cheek. "At that point most of the infected just died and that was the end of it."

This shocks Brian, though he isn't quite sure why. Of course the violence had to begin somewhere, but for some reason he has always pictured it having started somewhere more conspicuous; perhaps in the inner city or on the outskirts of a town inhabited by gang members. He never envisioned the virus spreading from a nice, quiet street in the suburbs.

Several minutes later, when the storm seems to have calmed considerably, Abigail stands to her feet with a fake smile plastered on her face. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving."