BREN

I listened to Vivian listing off the ingredients in the sponge cake she was making for my birthday in the kitchen, surprised that she could still have such things more than a hundred days since the pandemic began. I shouldn't be. Vivian and Dr. Evans—David—had made a self-sustainable home, a farm with goats, chickens, cows, and a greenhouse, where I saw Vivian plucking out the juiciest-looking tomatoes. I ate those with my toast and my eggs for breakfast.

And I hadn't had cake in three months. I deserve this, I thought. I didn't know why I felt so guilty being excited about it. Out here, the real world seemed a distant memory.

"And you never had looters or raiders come out here?" I asked, realizing how sudden and out of the blue it was. "I'm sorry. You don't have to answer that."

"Oh, no! It's alright to ask. This country got into strange troubles these past few months, don't we?"

I smiled. "We sure do."

"See, we may not look like we can handle ourselves, but we've been around these parts to know the lay of the land. Hardly some city folk would find us out here unless they look too far. We're lucky we've got some good neighbors."

I perked at that. "There are others?"

"Of course! Some tried to flee to the bigger cities and refugee camps, but some stayed like us. It would be a mistake to go to where many of the sick are. Here the air is fresh. Less likely to get sick. A shame what happened to Harrisburg. We can still hear the fighting some nights."

I pursed my lips. I don't think that's how that works. "Surely some have come by knocking?"

"Some do. Our neighbors mostly ask for a cup of sugar or to share a loaf of bread. Some they ask for food from my gardens, and the Townsens gave us milk. They have more cows than we do."

"So, no one...bad?"

"Bad is such a strange word, don't you think?" The old woman gave me a pitiful smile. "I would say desperate...yes. That's the right word. Of course, we gave them some food, and they tried to rob us, but they're good honest folk inside. Had families and children with them, and we gave them some of what we had before they went on to only God knows where. We only run into them at least once a week or so. By God's grace, a man and a woman with a three-year-old girl came by from Baltimore, having not eaten for days! You were still bedridden—poor child—but my husband gave them some rations to help them with their journey."

Baltimore? "Did they say anything about what's going on there?"

Vivian frowned. She crouched in front of the oven, peering through the door glass, watching over her baked cookies, before raising her head back to me. "It was as if Death had slept over the city."

I shuddered. Baltimore was one of the critical cities the government was trying to secure for Reclamation Day, the military's largest offensive into the Red Zone since D-Day. The city was only forty miles away from the capital. President John Marshall's campaign to retake what was left of Northeast America was getting thinner and thinner by the day, and Harrisburg was barely hanging on by a thread based on the reports I've heard from the radio.

With the vectors encroaching upon the White House, rumors spread that President Marshall and the rest of his cabinet had been evacuated and secretly abandoned the capital. There were impeachment talks from several congressmen and senators who stayed in Washington, with several protests and rallies breaking out across the country. #RunMarshallRun was trending.

Meanwhile, Marshall's propaganda was in full force on television and radio for the past few weeks after failing to retake the key cities he had promised on day one.

The oven chimed. Vivian opened the door and took out the tray excitedly. And as I stood there, my slim hopes that everything I had gone through the past three months would be over smelled awfully like baked chocolate chip cookies and sponge cake, crumbling and melting inside my mouth until nothing was left.

I looked out of the window and sighed.

Maybe this is the end.

What was worse, I wished I hadn't woken up.

——

LOGAN

"We are so fucked," Alfie muttered. "Fucked, fucked, fucked."

"How many did you see?" Kenny asked.

Jun bit his bottom lip, hesitating. "At least twenty."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Logan blurted out. At least twenty heavily armed men were scouring the area, looking for them, but he didn't quite know why. He could tell they weren't military, so they weren't rounding up survivors to be dragged inside their refugee camps. No. These men came here to kill us. "I'm sorry. I didn't know we were followed," Logan said.

"Are they Alphas?" Alfie asked.

Kenny shook his head. "Looks like a local militia. Maybe the National Guard?"

Standing on top of a wooden box, Mishka peered through the windows near the ceiling, hopped down, and chuckled. "I don't think so, kid. They call themselves the Sons of Abraham. They are just a bunch of cosplaying motherfuckers pretending to be God-fearing soldiers but instead rape and kill everyone they find offensive. The Alphas are on the other side of the river, trying to control Harrisburg, and mind you, winning at that. Against those lions, these Sons are just kittens."

Mishka took out his sword and the crossbow, but Jun grabbed his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks, and said, "We have to leave."

"Or we kill them. We've got these guns. Let's do it guerilla-style," Mishka said.

"Come on! They're almost on to us," Kenny hissed. "What should we do?"

"If we fight, we die." Jun held Mishka's gaze, and for a moment, the other man tried to hold his ground, but his shoulders slumped, and a deep sigh escaped his lips.

Mishka sighed. "Fine. Any plans, oh glorious Archer?"

June nodded. He didn't look awfully bothered by these Sons of Abraham. "We will see."

"Well, I'm waiting."

"Remember the pit?"

Mishka visibly shuddered.

Logan found himself on the back of Mishra's radio van, crouched behind the passenger seat with a rifle. Mishka sat behind the wheel, the engine at idle. Logan felt uncomfortable just looking at Mishka's armor, not bothering to take out what must have been a heavy ensemble. He was even surprised the man managed to climb into the driver's seat and started the car with his steel gloves. Yet again, Mishka was sweating like a waterfall. It must be all unbearable under the summer heat. Or maybe that's just the nerves?

Then, the garage doors slid upward. At the side, Kenny was busy pulling up the strings as slow as he could manage, cringing every time the chains and the wheels squeaked, keeping an eye out for footsteps coming their way from the corner. Fortunately, the garage doors faced the opposite side of the building where the militiamen had parked their cars. Beside Mishka's van, Alfie was behind the wheel, ready to book it.

What's taking Jun so long? Logan thought. As soon as he heard the vectors' shrieks, Logan stiffened. The men cried out, barking orders. Wherever those things were, they were getting close.

"I can't believe you had vectors so close to you," Logan whispered, clamoring up from behind and into the passenger seat. He saw Kenny running toward the truck and climbed in.

Mishka shrugged. "Never bothered us. They were on the pit, and Archer and I are quiet." Half a dozen strings of gunfire erupted. "But those people...not so much." And then the screaming began.

Alfie stepped on the gas first, and the truck lurched forward, almost skidding on the gravel road as he narrowed the bend and disappeared into the left corner. Mishka followed twenty feet behind. Compared to the truck, Mishka's was heavier to maneuver, and Logan feared they would topple over the nearby ditch.

"Careful!" Logan screamed.

"Don't backseat drive, or you'll scare me! Then we get an accident!"

Logan clamped his mouth shut, but his heart was pounding.

Driving through a narrow gap in the buildings, both vehicles burst into the main parking area, where at least half a dozen cars of the militiamen sat. Alfie clipped one gunman from behind, unaware of the truck, too focused on the vector—a man in a tattered doctor's scrubs—charging toward him. He was thrown to the ground, still alive but hurt, until the vector lunged on top of him and pounced, spraying blood all over the gravel. Running out of the low hill to their left were two dozen vectors in blood-drenched clothes. Half of the gunmen were shooting at them while the other half aimed at Logan and his friends.

"Get down!" Mishka screamed.

The glass shattered on Logan's side, and sprinkling shards cut through his cheeks. His side mirror was gone, obliterated by a barrage of what looked to be an AK-47. How the fuck did he get that? It didn't matter. Two gunmen climbed into their trucks and started to give chase, but they quickly noticed three arrows sticking out of the front tires. They waved their rifles around, trying to find the bowman.

Logan scoured the roof. "I can't see Jun!"

As Alfie reached another intersection on the lot, Jun came out of his crouched position, jumped off the roof of the nearby building, and landed on the truckbed. He stayed down as another spray of bullets came from the right.

Now that Jun's back with them, Logan started shooting out his rifle, but he probably didn't even hit anyone. Mishka pressed on the brakes, trying to slow it down before they narrowed another corner.

"Look out!" Logan shouted.

One gunman hopped onto Mishka's shattered window. He reached in with his free hand, grabbed for the wheel to turn, and the van lurched inward. Logan tried to aim and hesitated; one trigger pulled may catch Mishka's head instead. Mishka pulled something under the side of his seat, a small crossbow that could fit in one hand, and aimed it right under the man's chin. The arrow pierced through, but it was too short to come out at the top of his skull, but through his gaping mouth, the arrow's shaft peeked out from the tongue to the roof of his mouth cavity. It was not enough to hit the brain but enough for the shock and the pain to cross his face.

"Get off, peasant!" Mishka bellowed. "Off!"

The man let go of the wheel, a mixture of fear and begging, and fell backward, clamoring for any foothold. Logan didn't look to see whether he had made it. Then, more engines from behind.

Mishka pulled out the radio and hailed Jun. "They're behind us!" Three cars were gaining ground behind the van.

"I can see that," Jun said calmly.

"Take their tires out!"

"I already did. Just wait."

Logan imagined the gunmen's dashboard flashing, warning them of low tire pressure, yet their speed never changed. But when they hit the straight road leading toward the open gates, the gunmen's front tires suddenly exploded and gave way, and they careened off into the ditch where the next vehicle behind them slammed on their rear.

"Told you," Jun said.

Mishka laughed. "Show off."

Jun wiggled his way into the truck's cabin and saw him talking to Alfie and Kenny.

"We made too much noise," Mishka said. "Need to lay low."

"What was that?"

"Those people...vectors you call. We made too much noise."

Logan sighed, at least relieved they were now on a much more steady pavement. "Well, we got out of there. We can handle a hundred or so infected." We just got to drive faster. "Besides, we'll be far away from there."

"It doesn't matter now."

"Huh? What was that?"

"No, not hundreds. Thousands. Everywhere."

"What are you talking about?"

"There's at least a high chance that upper five-figure numbers of those vectors are now at this side of the river, you get me?"

"But the military formed a firing line along the river. It's still standing. We saw it—"

Mishka looked at him and frowned. "The line's broken, kid, since two days ago."

"I didn't hear that in the news. Are you sure?"

"Kid, I am the news. What'd you expect when they try to censor the truth? No. President Marshall's great reclamation plan was an utter failure. As we speak, thousands of those fuckers are pouring across the river every hour! I've been trying to warn folks this side of the river for two days now to get out and get out fast! You didn't hear me in the air?"

Logan bit his lip. "Your channel was a bit choppy. Just music."

Mishka shook his head. "Music? But! Ah, of course. Paid for a damn good antenna just to get blocked by the government. Bunch of fascists, I say! Don't trust people on eBay. One day I'm going to sue these fuckers up the chain! You don't get to hijack DJ Swayze's airwaves, assholes!"

Logan looked at the equipment at the back of Mishka's van. Miraculously, most of it was undamaged from the shootout. "Could we get the word out? We have a group of survivors on a farm--"

"How far from the river?"

"Maybe, six, seven miles off?" Sensing Mishka's doubts, Logan added, "But they're only twelve miles away from the city. We saw less than a dozen vectors since we stayed there for almost two weeks. I doubt the vectors would find it."

"You didn't see how many of those things walked the riverbed just to appear on the other side, kid. It's like an anthill the way they waded through the bodies shot by the army. I even heard from a passing survivor that the last refugee site was overwhelmed by thousands of people trying to flee the horde and the military thought of abandoning it."

"Last refugee site?"

"The camps near West Fairview and Lemoyne are gone now. Only the one west of Wormleysburg is left standing. They may take a while, but your farm is a sitting duck. For two days, they've been walking, hunting what's left of the people this side of Harrisburg, and growing in numbers. It wouldn't surprise me to see a large horde appear where your friends are within the next day or two."

Logan nodded. "When we're in range, I'll warn Bren."

"Who's that?"

"He's, uh, a friend. Kind of our leader."

"That's good. Warn 'em. If the government is hijacking my airwaves, then that's the best we can do now. Once we get out of their range, perhaps I could broadcast again beyond the city's limits. I hope it's enough."

——

BREN

"No, we are not leaving," said Vivian. "This is our home, our life. This is where we made a lot of our memories."

"But grandma..." Chandler started.

"We can't leave. That's final. And we're not even sure what he said was true—"

They had been at it for half an hour, talking about the news Logan brought over the radio. Harrisburg had fallen, and the northern line of the Reclamation had gone down with it. The vectors were now pouring south, hitting every town, city, and state this side of the Appalachian mountains. I didn't want to hear the same argument for the tenth time and left Lacey, Chandler, and Dr. Evans to talk to Vivian. I get it. I understood what she must be feeling., but it didn't change the fact that she and those who stayed behind would die.

I walked up the stairs and knocked on Edgar and Nico's room. Nico opened it. They had been packing since we received the news about the horde. We couldn't risk another day to stay around the area now that the military was going to abandon it. With no buffer against the vectors, which the army was, the civilians usually lose.

"We're almost done," Nico said. "Any news from Logan?"

"They say they're only five miles away, but due to the interstate traffic jam, they must drive around. Might take them longer, maybe an hour or two before they get here."

"So... Cora's gone?"

"Yep. We can't pull her out of the traffic jam even if we tried."

"Damn. That's Haskell's prized baby."

"And lots of gear," Edgar added.

"Good news, Jun managed to bring the weapons and food out."

Nico smiled. "He's always been crafty. I'm glad he made it out safe."

"We can't walk to Pittsburgh," Edgar said, sitting at the end of the bed. His leg was still healing. "Dangerous to hike now with a lot of them around."

"That's why we must convince the Evanses to come with us. They have the truck and a couple of vehicles parked in their garage," I said.

"But we can't just leave either. Jun made it out and is still here. What if Paloma and the others are still in the city? They might be looking for us, too."

Nico shook his head. "The plan was to head to Pittsburgh, Edgar. They're probably sipping vodka sodas and lounging on sun chairs from the rooftop bars..."

"But Cora's here, Nico. I doubt they would hike two hundred miles to Pittsburgh. I'm sure they're still nearby, making plans to retrieve that RV, which means they're somewhere around the interstate. I've seen the map. There's a downtown area nearby Camp Hill."

"And we've looked for two weeks. We haven't found them."

"Paloma is very persuasive. You know her. She won't leave without us, and I'm sure Peter wouldn't want to leave you, too." Edgar pointed at me.

I said, "He's a smart guy. He knows what to do, and if I were him, he'd take the others to safety, to Pittsburgh."

Edgar narrowed his eyes at me. "I don't think you really believe that, Bren. I've seen the way he looks at you." He focused on packing his clothes and stuffing them inside his backpack.

I didn't say anything back. I didn't want to make Edgar's feelings worse and admit that Peter, Paloma, and the others may be surrounded by a large horde in the middle of the city while we stayed here in the safety of the farm. Then again, I had seen Peter be stupid, and it would be pretty stupid if he stayed just for me. The chances of that were very high.

Still, I wouldn't admit it to Nico and Edgar.

Footsteps climbed up the stairs. I turned around and found Lacey leaning against the doorframe, frowning. "We're out of luck. She won't go."

"Can't you try again? It's not safe to stay here," Nico asked.

"We've tried many times. My grandmother grew up here since she was a baby. Said she'd die here, too, if it comes to that."

I heaved a sigh. "What about your grandfather?"

"He wants to stay, of course. He didn't want to leave her here, but Chandler, Rob, and I wanted to go. Rob's gone over to the Townsens and the Browns and let them know what's coming. But if grandma and grandpa want to stay, we're probably going to stay. I don't know about Uncle Kenny. He might want to go, too. He's been talking about it for weeks since the army arrived to retake Harrisburg."

More people to think about. I bit the insides of my cheek. "What about...the thing we talked about?" I asked.

"I don't know. She hasn't decided yet whether to part with her truck. Then again, I don't think she liked you all walking around and always in danger. It's more than two-hundred miles between here and Pittsburgh."

There's still a chance. "Well, thank you for trying, Lacey. I appreciate it."

Lacey shifted. "Is it true? Is there really a big horde coming? What if the army is still out there? What if the line hadn't fallen yet?"

"Logan says he has a legit source about the fall, and I trust Logan's judgment. And we've gone through big hordes before, Lacey. It is not a place you want to be stuck in the middle."

I could see Lacey visibly gulped. "Okay. If grandpa and Chandler convinced grandma to leave, I'd start packing, too."