Act Two: The Long Quiet

A chapter where they mourn Renata, Kevin, and the others they’ve lost a la Natalie Peck.

When they first turn the generators back on, two zombies approach the building and bang on the doors, until they shut the generators off again. One of the zombies wanders off immediately, but the other one takes several hours.

Chapter 1: Back to Fort Carson

We return to Fort Carson, where Armand has Danika transferred to a private room where he molests her, then sells her to the highest bidder. Kenzie talks Hakeem into letting him free. They then unlock everyone that hasn’t snapped, including Chase and the remaining Swedes. Armand has Danika moved to a seperate hospital room. As he’s leaving, he has a conversation with Officer Lars, and lets him out.

Early in the morning, while Armand and most of his henchmen are taking bets on which one of the snapped is going to get eaten by the others; Hakeem and a half dozen other soldiers sneak into the cells. They let Kenzie and everyone that isn’t still itching out, including Chase and the other three Swedes. Before they sneak off the base, Bjorn and Bjergsen insist on staying behind. They mean to find Danika. Danel tries to stay with them, but they insist he goes with the others. He’s tasked with getting home and telling all their mothers what has happened.

Hakeem leaves the keys with Bjorn and Bjergsen. Once the others have left, Bjorn and Bjergsen open the other cells, then flee into the hospital.

Chapter 2: Craig and Jamal find Mr. Chen Mauled in the backyard

Cut to Mr. Chen firing up the generator. The house lights up. After turning off the obvious lights, he stands on the porch and smokes, quite satisfied with himself.

Craig swears Jamal into looking after Mr. Chen, so he can go west to Utah, where Virginia is vacationing with family. He promises favor to Jamal, then has him help put the seat in Chase’s CJ5. He then takes the CJ5 passed Mrs. Chen’s grave, and up into the mountains.

Chapter next:

“Anything else? Anything else we need to address before the lights go out?”

“What about Brittany?”

“Fuck you, Kevin!” Brittany roared and stood to her feet.

The lot of ‘em stood, half expecting an altercation between the two. Chef got in the way. “All right, everybody. Let’s all calm down. Brittany’s only showing mild symptoms, which might or might not have anything to do with turning. It could simply be the aggravation,” she stared at Kevin. “We have hours, don’t we?” she looked to Craig.

“I mean, she hasn’t turned yet,” Craig shrugged.

“You will tell us if you feel any different?” Chef asked.

Brittany swallowed and gave a solemn nod.

At the Fish House, Mr. Murphy is locked in the liquor cage, as he has become non-communicative. Brittany scratches Renata, which really upsets Kevin—so she is also locked in the liquor cage.

Back at the restaurant, Renata is commiserating with Brittany, when Brittany scratches her. Vindicated for their mean treatment of Brittany, Jamal and Kevin want to throw her out, or possibly kill her. The argument grows, until Kevin bites Kaleb, and they realize he too was scratched. All four of them are isolated.

After Brittany gets out of the liquor cage, Kevin and Jamal follow her around. After a short time, Brittney turns on them and yells, “I can pee alone, thank you!”

Not long after, Kevin scratches Kaleb. Everyone thinks its best ff those bitten and scratched are tied to tables and the like… Mr. Murphy is left in the empty liquor room, while Brittany, Kevin, Kaleb, and Renata are all tied to posts in the main dining room.

Chapter ?: Origin Stories (part 1)

After escaping Fort Carson, Special Agent Kenzie states his belief that the cause of people snapping and turning into zombies is a mutated form of rabies that came out of the mountains of Colorado. He also shares his late partner’s belief that the disease was formulated by pharmaceutical companies colluding with the government.

Chapter Yeah: Brittany In a Cage

Wrote 1.2 — 46m05s — 2023/09/23

Renata and Kevin both snap. A couple of the guests also snap. They are isolated. For a couple days, nothing seems to happen. After a time, they turn on Renata and rip her apart, then feast on her flesh. The others are aghast. Several want to do away with them, but the argument is that there’s a cure.

Until Chase returns.

“No, you gotta come now!” Mayzee snapped. “People over paper!” She grabbed my wrist and started to pull.

Well, I may not have liked it—my plate was already overflowing—but she was using my own mantra against me and she was using it properly, so I allowed her to guide me to the basement, to the liquor cage, where the kitchen had Britney locked with some stranger.

Britney was a mess. Her face was red, and she was screaming at the cooks. “YOU LET ME OUT AND YOU LET ME OUT NOW!” she roared as she shook the cage.

“She’s raging,” Kevin claimed. “She’s finally turning…”

At the far end of the cage, was a stranger, someone else that’d been bit. She was jerking and huffing. Britney looked back at the stranger, gave a whine, then turned and began Kevin and Jerome. “YOU MOTHERFUCKERS OPEN THIS GAW-DAMNED DOOR RIGHT NOW!!!” she snapped as she shook the door as hard as she could.

The liquor cage was solid. There was no way Britney was getting out unless she was let out. I pulled the keys out of my pocket and began to fumble through them looking for the proper key.

“You can’t let her out!” Kevin grabbed my hand. “She’s hysteric!”

“She may be hysteric,” I replied as I pulled my hand free, “but the one behind her is turning.”

Indeed, the strange lady behind her was coughing and hissing and contorting all about. As I pulled open the door, she turned to us, blood leaking from her eyes and mouth. Britney turned to the woman as the stranger ran at her. With a curse, I threw open the door and pulled Britney out, then put my body into the strange lady. She was strong and manic—but quite a bit smaller than I—so it was easy enough to throw her to the ground.

The little zombie bit at me, but missed. She scraped my arms, but the thick cloth of my suit jacket kept her from doing any damage. As she struggled to get up, I stepped out and closed the door to the liquor cage. I locked it, then backed away as the lady zombie collided with the heavy gauge wire that formed the cage and tried to stick her hand’s through the tight knit wire.

Behind me was a commotion. The others were jostling each other and making ultimatums. Britney wrapped her arms around my neck as she pressed her cheek to my ear. “Don’t let them lock me back up!” she begged.

“Alright alright,” I began as I gently pushed her off of me. “Nobody’s putting you back in the cage,” I said.

The kitchen didn’t like that. “You can’t just let her out!” Kevin complained. “She’s gonna turn any minute!”

“Fuck you, Kevin!” Britney screamed.

I pulled Britney back, and stepped between them. “Look, Britney hasn’t turned, and we can’t keep her in a cage with someone that has. We don’t know that she’ll turn. We don’t know how any of this works. This ain’t the movies, or some dumb book,” I explained. “This is life.”

“But she’s bit!” Jerome noted.

I nodded my head. “Yes, admittedly, she got bit—two days ago. But this,” I turned to the zombie in the cage. “Does anyone remember her name?”

“Misses Carmichael,” Mayzee nodded.

“Thank you Mayzee,” I smiled. “Misses Carmichael got bit, what? Two? Three hours ago? If Britney was going to turn, shouldn’t she have turned by now?”

“We don’t know how this works!” Jerome pointed. “She could turn any second, and now she’s free!”

I put up a hand. “Admittedly, she could turn any second,” I began. “But she hasn’t—not yet—and she’s not showing any signs. She’s not cavorting, or hissing, or bleeding out her eyes. We can’t keep her locked up with a full-fledged zombie. You want to lock her up, you find another place to do it—and don’t suggest the fridges. We need them to keep our food,” I said.

“This is on you!” Jerome pointed. “Now you gotta watch her!”

“Fuck you, Jay!” Britney snapped.

I pulled her back again. “Fine. I’ll watch her—but she ain’t going back in the cage until she shows some sign of turning. Her look,” I grabbed her arm and held it out to the others. “Isn’t it healing nicely?”

The others scratched their heads. “it doesn’t make any sense,” Kevin voiced their concerns.

“Of course it doesn’t, because this isn’t Dawn of the Dead, or 28 Days Later. This is real life,” I said.

“28 Days Later wasn’t real zombies,” Jerome began.

I put up a hand. “Let’s just leave it,” I began. “For whatever reason, Britney still hasn’t turned, and I’m beginning to think she isn’t going to, so consider whatever theories you want, but include the fact that apparently not everyone that gets bit turns.”

“Being in charge of things,” Brittney began as she stepped close to me and stared into my eyes. “Is it hard?”

“Yes,” I answered immediately. “I feel like a juggler, with a thousand issues to address, and if I don’t take care of each one in a timely and efficient manner, then it grows in complexity, and requires even more of me.”

“The power?’ she asked, as she continued to stare into my soul. “Over others?”

“I don’t think of it as power,” I shrugged. “I think of it as responsibility.”

“But you make us do things,” Brittney replied.

“You only do them because you respect me,” I noted.

“Not all of us,” Brittney replied. “Some of the younger ones, you could abuse them,” she said, as she pressed close and continued to make a study of me.

“I could,” I agreed. “But how long until they notice it? How long until they resent it?” I began. “And that’s just the beginning of it! If I abuse my responsibilities, well, that takes time and attention. How many little issues are dropped while I’m abusing my position? How many problems fall into the cracks—and because I’m too busy to take care of them—how many of them fester and begin to devour my little kingdom?” I shook my head. “If that happens, it’s the beginning of the end,” I gulped, and with that, I began to push her away. “Besides, you have a boyfriend,” I noted.

Brittney bowed her eyes and shook her head. “Travis,” she whispered his name. “He hasn’t been my boyfriend in a long time,” she stated—then corrected herself with a shrug. “A little—but rarely,” she claimed, and once more she was staring into my eyes. “I haven’t loved him in a long time, though I might sleep with him now and again; mostly out of boredom, out of fear of being alone,” she said. “Mostly, I kept him around because our relationship was falling apart, because I could keep him at arm’s length,” she shrugged. “If he would have come to my rescue, that would have surprised me. Indeed, that might of been the spark we needed to rekindle our relationship. But that’s putting too much faith in him. He was never coming to my rescue. Besides, my need for him was superficial,” she continued. “There are far better candidates for someone to take care of me,” she smiled and pressed herself close.

“I can’t,” I said as I held her at bay. “I can’t be with anyone that works for me. You need to take care of yourself,” I told her, and now it was my turn to stare into her eyes. “Besides,” I continued. “Don’t fuck where you eat.”

“But everything is different!” she claimed. “The whole world is upside down! We have to rewrite everything!” She said, and tried to kiss me.

I couldn’t let her. “That’s why we have to double down! We aren’t maintaining our vigilance, we’re reinforcing it, so the remains of what was can catch and grow into something new,” I told her. “This isn’t the end! It’s the beginning of something altogether different.”

“I know,” she said as she relaxed away from me. “It’s just…” she began, then said nothing as she stared at the floor.

Were those tears? Was she crying?

“I’ve liked you for a long time,” she confessed. “Why do you think I stayed with Travis? Why do you think I stayed miserable?”

“Complacency?” I shrugged. “Maybe a lack of self worth?”

She shook her head, than gave a bit of a nod. “Maybe a little,” she admitted. “Mostly out of despair,” she answered. “I wanted him to be better—but I wasn’t sure how to be better myself. I want to say he was a hazy mirror—but perhaps he reflected me perfectly—my dim and selfish light.”

And now she was most definitely crying.

“Hey,” I wrapped her in a comforting hug. “It’s okay,” I whispered, and wiped the tears from her warm cheeks. “You’ll find someone, a better match. Someone that compliments your strengths, and supports you against your weaknesses.”

“No,” she whispered back. “I already found him.”

“It cannot be,” I shook my head. “Steel your heart. Tomorrow, you begin your hunt again.”

“But I have my prey,” she claimed. “Indeed, I have him cornered.”

“It cannot be,” I replied. “You still work for me.”

“Then I quit,” she smiled and tried to twist me into a kiss.

“Doesn’t work that way,” I began. “You still still owe me two weeks.”

“I walked off the job,” she answered. “In the middle of the shift.”

“Bad girl,” I rebuked and separated myself. “You need work,” I stared her in the eyes. “If you won’t do as I tell you, what will you do?”

“You,” she twisted her mouth into a mischievous smile. “I will take care of you.”

For a long second, we searched each other’s eyes. I could tell she meant it—though I could also see that she had no idea what the job might entail.

And neither did I. I might want it—but I couldn’t guide her. We were at an impasse. For several long seconds, we simply stared at each other.

“Tell me you do not like me, and I’ll leave you alone,” she said.

“How about a compromise?” I began. “In two weeks, I will have processed your application, and we will know if you are qualified for the position—” I was saying—but she closed the gap and had pressed her lips against my own.

“Britney,” I protested. “We—”

“Shshhshhh,” she whispered, then licked my ear. “I found the work, and I’ve made it my own. Now shut up, and let this happen,” she grinned. “You need it.”

“And you?”

“I need it,” she kissed my neck.

“For rich or for poor?” I asked, as she took off my tie.

“We’re have nothing,” she noted. “We’re destitute.”

“In health and in sickness?” I asked as she unbuttoned my shirt.

“I’m already infected,” she shrugged. “Tomorrow, you’ll be a zombie.”

“For better, for worse?” I continued, as she unbuckled my belt.

“How can it get any worse?” she replied.

“There’s always worse",” I shrugged. “What are the chances we’ve hit rock bottom?”

“Shush you,” she said, as she pushed me down to the floor. “Tomorrow, we may die—but until the light of dawn, you belong to me.”

Chapter 9: Books and Blankets

Upon meeting the neighbors, Kaleb and Brittany begin to barter. They seek perishable food, fuel for the generators, and books and blankets.

In the full light of day, Jamal goes out with Delaceya to poke about the neighborhood. They meet several neighbors, and bring them back to The Fish House. They barter, trading food, blankets, books, games, puzzles, showers, cooked meals, and so on. The Fish House becomes a community house where the people come to meet, trade, and commiserate. The men form posses and go about the neighborhood in search of survivors and supplies.

Chase and Agent Kenzie finally get to Mr. Chen’s house and find Kaleb and Jamal there. Chase is pissed when he finds the CJ5 is gone. There’s a note in his room with the keys to Craig’s ancient Dodge Dart.

Chapter Something: Rescue Efforts

Rescue crews are seen. They force their way through the gate of The Fish House, which really pisses off Chef. They come up to the gates and tell everyone they have to leave. Chef declines.

The officer in charge of the rescue effort calls his boss on the phone and gets reamed. “Jesus Christ, Rumpert! The dead have risen—and you’re going to spend your time fighting the living?! If their in good health and want to stay where they are, you sure as shit leave ‘em!”

That night, the internet goes off.

This scene occurs after the demise of Renata, as Kaleb is trying to console Brittany:

“I’ve been thinking about Sebastian,” Brittany said.

“And who’s Sebastian?” Kaleb asked.

Brittany held up her book, “A famous author. Apparently, he wrote a number of noteworthy novels.”

“Are they any good?”

“Probably,” Brittany shrugged. “I’ve yet to read one.”

“Aren’t you almost done with that one?” Kaleb pointed.

“Yes—but this is a non-fiction. It’s about the art of writing itself,” Brittany explained.

“Do you like it?”

“Immensely,” Brittany nodded. “It’s sweet and soft, unbelievably funny and crushingly sad all at once. It’s quite sophisticated, though it often appears in such humble rag.”

“What’s your favorite part?”

“Invariably the part that I’m currently reading,” she smiled. “In this current chapter he’s going over the paradoxical nature of writing. He talks about trying to get people’s attention, about writing a story that demands ten to twenty hours of laborious focus; and for the privilege of letting you struggle with his words—with the dim hope that you might divine whatever their message—he asks for your hard-earned cash. But he never gets what it’s worth. He can never recover the years of blood, sweat, and obsession; packed into three quarters of an inch. It cost him so much more than twenty bucks. The fact that his great vision sells so cheap is a mortal insult.

“And that’s assuming you paid full price,” she continued. "Just as likely, you got it on clearance, to make way for an inferior product. You got it half off; which is simply the cost of the paper, ink, glue, and the know-how to put the physical book together.

“And why did you buy it in the first place?” By now she was reading directly from the book. " Half the time the buyer resents the sale anyway. Books can make the buyer feel inferior. Just as the publishing can never fulfill the author all on its own; the purchase, even the reading, often falls short of appreciation. Did they get it? Was the story too complicated, too artsy and ephemeral? Or perhaps it was beneath them, bawdy and raucous. Were they simply skimming the words, they’re eyes catching each glyph—while the mind was too distracted with other matters to suss out the meaning? All too often, the buyer never even gets around to reading the great work. Instead, they place the clearance priced book on a shelf, never once cracked open. It sits like an unappealing virgin, wasting away, resented for a beauty that requires too much attention to appreciate properly. And so she sits, waiting; wanting for a patient and ponderous lover, one she is unlikely to ever meet—a seed of the most glorious fruit, cast carelessly upon the concrete of the drive.

“There is a madness about writing, dreams far too big to hold, too complete to capture without reducing the fidelity so much that it makes the whole project questionable at best. And yet, the writer must write. What else are they good for? It is the art that calls them, that begs they struggle, and thrash, and curse against they’re own feeble efforts. It is a torment that must be exercised, or it will claim the soul and damn the spirit. It is the price the artist pays, if he is honest, if he would produce something of worth. It is hours and days and years of edits, second-guesses, rewrites… It is a maddening struggle for a few limp pages that most are far too busy to appreciate. All too often, the general public will look upon our work and glare. Who are you to ask for even a glance?!

“But don’t you see?! I have paid for this with sweat, tears, and blood! It is sweet! It is sour, bitter, and succulent! It is all the tastes you could ever want! It will not only sustain you, but it will also enrich and embolden you! It is proof that life is worth living, that death cannot conquer us! It is ambrosia! It is the spice melange! It is the very water of life!”

She closed the book and brushed a tear from her eye. “It’s so beautiful I can barely stand it.”

“Well,” Kaleb began as he put his hand on hers. “I imagine this Sebastian couldn’t be happier than to have you as a reader.”

A smile cracked over her streaked and ugly face. She rested her head against his shoulder, then wrapped an arm around him, and pulled him close. They sat like that for a long while, in silence, as they watched the sun settle over the distant mountain.

By the time Chase finally returns, Kaleb and Brittany are a thing, which draws out resentment in Chase.

Chase becomes a ranger, with Jamal, Kenzie, and many of the men of the neighborhood. They check on survivors, utilities, supplies, and whatnot.

Next Chapter:

Craig gets over the mountain. He makes it out past Lake George, then loses the CJ5 in an ambush near Buena Vista. He manages to escape. He makes it over the mountains to Gunnison. Gunnison is in good shape. They have news. They tell him this came out of Aspen, and spread east and west from there. Grand Junction is a mess, and there’s not much news beyond that going toward Salt Lake. Last word was that Salt Lake and Utah Valley were a mess, all the way from Payson. On the plus side, Highway 50 is safe all the way to Montrose. Beyond that, they don’t recommend going north. They give him a radio and ask him to look in on Moab. He agrees.

He works his way through town. All he sees are zombies. He radios to his friends, and while they’re talking, he hears a scream. Mid conversation, he turns off his radio. Toward the north end of town, he rescues little Beatrice from her mad mother, and they’re forced to run. They go north, then follow the river.

Back in Colorado Springs, there’s sustained fighting in the B Street neighborhood. The fighting moves into Southgate, then Mill Street. There’s fighting downtown. A few days later, Chef and company see a couple dozen people thrown off the roof of the Holly Sugar Building.

Craig makes his way to Moab, where he rescues Beatrice.

Chapter Last: Lights Over Denver

Act Three: To Be Decided

Craig and Beatrice find Green River occupied by zombies. They skirt south. On the west side of town, they hit up a few houses, hoping to find some better clothes for Beatrice. Going back into the desert, they see a dead man with numerous stab wounds.

What happens in Castle Dale?

At the end of the book, Brittany gives her speech about all they’ve lost, and how life is now so much better. (with plenty of “muh survivor’s guilt”).

Teaser One: Buck and Shirea

Buck couldn’t believe what an absolute disaster the day had turned into! Just coming out of the car, Shirea had snarled at Roger—Buck’s dad—then leaned half way over the seat and bit him on the shoulder!

Well, if that wasn’t the last straw! Stunned, Buck told Shirea to apologize.

Shirea turned to the door and struggled to get a proper hold of the handle.

“Well, what the hell?!” Roger complained, as he glanced back over his shoulder.

“Roger!?” his wife hissed as she stuck a finger between his ribs. “Don’t be short!”

“She bit me!” he complained.

Shirea finally got the door open and half fell out as she abandoned the car. Buck apologized profusely to his father as he backed out of the car after his wife. “I’m sorry dad… she’s goin’ through it today… something’s got her goat, and I just hope she’s okay…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Roger waved off his son, then turned and complained to his wife. “You can’t expect me not to yell at her! She did bite me, Helen!”

Buck rushed up the steps as his father’s complaints trailed after him.

“Well, if I shouldn’t have bothered her with what I thought were perfectly polite questions, I’m not going to bother her now with some ham-fisted attempt at an apology—especially after she bit me!” Roger exclaimed, as he turned the engine over, and drove away.

Shirea tried to get the door open as Buck slowly approached the patio. “Come on…” he held his hands out in an apology to his wife—not that he had any idea why he should apologize. “You gotta talk to me...” he begged.

For a long second, Shirea simply stared at him… or was she staring past him?

The door popped open, and the maid poked her head out. “Senora, you come in?” she asked as she held the door open; then turned, smiled at Buck, and gave a little wave.

“Hi, Mrs. Hernandez,” Buck said and glanced down at his feet, as he took the steps up onto the patio.

As she walked in, Shirea pushed the door against Mrs. Hernandez, then barked, and scratched the maid’s face with her nails.

“Ayeee!” screamed Mrs. Hernandez, as she pushed back at the younger woman.

“Jesus, Shirea!” Buck cried, as he clomped up to the door. Shirea groaned and stumbled away, across the front hall to the stairs, in a stupor once more. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hernandez,” he began.

“No, senor,” she brushed him aside. “Is okay,” she tried to assure him, as a thin line of blood appeared along one of the nail’s tracks.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the night off—and tomorrow too,” Buck told her.

“Thank you, senor,” she smiled and gave a bit of a bow. “I just finish up the dishes…”

“No, no… I don’t know why she’s like this and I think it’s best if there’s fewer people around right now,” Buck said, then slogged after his wife, trying to figure out what was going on. Shirea had been a terror all day.

It started small; complaints of a headache and a noticeable moodiness, which only increased as church service went on. She’d go from melancholy and on the verge of tears, to agitated discomfort and aggressiveness, then back with little to no warning. She couldn’t stop scratching herself. She was itchy and going between sweats and chills. On top of that, she kept licking her fingers whether or not anyone was watching. Licking fingers can be done in a lot of different ways, but the way that Shirea was doing it was just kind of gross.

It wasn’t just her nails. Shirea had licked both the boys as they were getting ready for church, then stumbled and muttered some halfhearted apology. Half of what she said was incoherent. She continued to communicate mostly through with moans, groans, and the occasional snarl—all while itching herself and licking her nails.

As the sermon settled over them, she scratched Tommy Tucker when he tried to get her attention so she would look at his coloring. He normally got along with Shirea just fine, but this day, she gave him a nasty little scratch for his distraction. With wide eyes, Annabelle went and sat between mother and the Tuckers. She had the wherewithal to apologize for Shirea’s outlandishness.

Not that it stopped with Tommy. For the second hymn Shirea stood later than the rest of us, and simply so she could turn on ol’ man Campbell and scratch him across the cheek for singing so boisterously behind her. The hymn skipped a beat as all eyes turned the way of the troublesome wife.

Shirea shrunk from the attention. She turned and sat in her seat—after which the Campbells shifted to the far end of their pew. Not that anyone blamed them.

By this point, Buck wondered if they’d ever make it through service—though for most of it, Shirea simply stared off into the rafters; all while shivering, sweating, and scratching. She did startle several times, if the crowd around her moved too suddenly, or something even a touch dramatic came from the pulpit.

Finally, the prayers were all said, sermons recited, announcements made, and hymns sung. The congregation was free to go. Buck figured he could finally get his wife home. He had long ago admitted to himself that she should have stayed home—but there was no point in lamenting actions already taken. The only thing to do was make the correction. He sat with his hand on his wife’s while the crowd dispersed. While they waited, he gave his wife’s keys to their daughter. “Bring the boys home after study,” he told her.

With wide eyes, Annabelle asked, “can I stop by Gina’s, please?!”

Buck gave a nod. “Just try to be quiet when you come home. Your mother is miserable…”

That’s when Mrs. Harper came crashing down upon them, intent on relishing in Shirea’s misery. This time the scratch was just as much Mrs. Harpie’s own fault. She never would have wanted a hug from Shirea—except that she wanted to get closer to poor Shirea’s suffering so she might gloat—not that she got to. Mrs. Harper cornered them so aggressively that Shirea might have scratched her if it’d been any other Sunday. “Ow!” Mrs. Harper yowled, and when she threatened to retaliate, Buck stepped in the way. Thankfully, his parents arrived just then and escorted Shirea, as Buck gave a halfhearted apology to Mrs. Harper. Well, Mrs. Harpie was sure happy to have something to complain about and told just about everyone she could find that their perfect little Shirea was going around scratching and pinching people!

Buck thought that might be the end of it, as they were making their way to the door rather quickly. He brushed off several friends and acquaintances with muttered apologies. They made it all the way to the front foyer, where Shirea scratched the younger middle of the Johnstone girls when they didn’t get out of the way fast enough—you know, the lighter blonde that plays harp and guitar—she’s a nice young thing and certainly didn’t deserve a scratch! So Buck chastised his wife—and that’s when she scratched him too!

Well, Buck was livid, but he knew not to lose his cool. Not that he could have any more of her shenanigans either. He took a firm hand as he led her to the car.

It was nice of his dad to drive, and they rode home most the way in peace, until dad started asking questions—but now they were home and public part of their day was over. Mrs. Hernandez was out of the house, and the kids wouldn’t be home for hours. Buck trailed through the house after his suffering wife. He glanced down at the scratch she gave him. It itched, which made him worry. He stepped down the hall, then stood in the doorway of his bedroom, as Shirea stood near the end of their bed. She stared at the lights and shivered.

Teaser Two: Mark and Mary

Mark scrolled on his phone, his business in the bathroom concluded long ago. He’d locked himself in the bathroom over an hour ago and he wasn’t interested in coming out. His sister and dad were both coming down with some new crud, and the last time he tried to be helpful, Mary had snapped at him and nearly bit him. Well, there was no lock on his bedroom door, so Mark took refuge where he could.

“Sweet Jesus in a corn field,” Mark said as he stared into his phone. There was a video of some wild woman in Vegas; a dark-haired twenty-something, maybe 6 feet tall, and a hundred-fifty pounds of muscle and appealing curves. She cut across the street ahead of traffic, howling and grunting. Her dress was askew. One of her flats was missing.

As she got close, it looked like there was a smear of blood on her cheek and arm. She turned away from whoever held the phone and stomped down the street. She glared and snapped at people that gave her plenty of distance to pass. She weren’t using no words.

Whoever was recording her decided to follow, decided to see what would happen next—and the wild woman didn’t disappoint. She came to the edge of a restaurant patio and immediately went after an old man that was paying her no mind whatsoever. With her nails, the lady grabbed the man by the face and bit his neck. The little old man screamed in agony and pitched forward away from his attacker.

His mate came to his rescue. He grabbed the crazy lady’s arm—which saw an immediate rebuttal. Mark could only imagine the long and deep scratch marks she must have left as she climbed up his arm to rake his face. Mary had done that to Mark a time or two. The one time he might have even deserved it.

The mate toppled his chair over backwards in an attempt to get away from the wild woman. He rolled away and came up ready to fight—but she was already on to the next man that put his hands on her…

..then she broke away and assaulted some lady at random! The photographer got a close-up of this lady’s bloody face as she stumbled away, thin ribbons of skin hanging from her cheek. The camera man asked if she was okay as sounds of conflict reigned in the background. Sure that the old lady would survive, the camera turned back to the wild woman.

The next guy that got in close had some skill. After a time, he managed to tie the crazy lady into a pretzel—but not before she cut him up bloody. That’s where the video cut off, as she shrieked and flailed the one arm that was still kind of free—though she had no range or reach to get any purchase.

Mark checked the comments, but the description said the rest of the video was just the recorder watching the guy until the cops came. The crazy lady struggled the whole time and did manage to bite one of the cops and scratch a paramedic before they got her tied down on a gurney.

“What is the world coming to?” Mark wondered. The old lady’s bloody face put him off fight videos, though there were plenty of new ones in his feed, random attacks on the street. He went looking for anything else to watch.

There was a pound on the door, and Mary gave an annoyed huff.

“Hold your horses!” Mark snapped. He wasn’t interested in giving up the bathroom, especially since there were two more down stairs.

There was another pound, followed by Mary pushing and shaking the door. “Give me a second! I’m almost done!” he called.

A shrill scream came through the door as Mary continued to shake the handle. Mark wondered why his sister was banshee screeching when she‘d only just barely knocked?!

“Sweet Pete, bring it down a beat!” he complained.

The pounding on the door intensified. Flustered, Mark set his phone on the counter and unlocked the door. He opened it a crack. “Knock it off!” he tried to say, as Mary immediately tried to get in—nails first.

“No—” Mark struggled to push her back. He was bigger and stronger, but Mary was as crazy as he’d ever seen her, trying to scratch and bite him! Finally sick of it, he grabbed a towel and shoved her down. He slammed the door shut and locked it once more. Why was she being so irrational?! They hadn’t been fighting or nothing—and suddenly she was a maniac! On the other side of the door, Mary scrambled to her feet and began to bang and shake the door again—all while screaming.

“Dad! Come get your daughter!” He called through the door. “She done lost her freakin’ mind!”

Mary shrieked again.

“See dad!” Mark yelled, then wondered at his sister’s insanity. What the hell was going on?!

Heavy footsteps shook the stairs and rattled the house.

“Thank the angels,” Mark said, since he knew the footsteps to be his father’s.

But the old man didn’t grab his daughter to talk some sense into her. Instead, he began beating on the door too!

“What’d I do?!” Mark squealed as he backed to the far corner of the bathroom. “Dad, I didn’t start it!” he started to cry.

The onslaught continued, and the door was beginning to quake. Mark couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong and it’d be an absolute disaster for him to let his sister and dad into the bathroom. He tried to reason with them, but they only replied in grunts, screams, and bellows. They wouldn’t even talk to him!

Realizing the door would eventually give, Mark jammed a small shelf between the toilet and the wall. Pinned as it was, the shelf did wonders to stabilize the door.

“What is the nine hells is going on?!” Mark cried, but his protestations were only answered with anger and frustration from his father and sister.

Heart beating out of his chest and phone in hand, Mark retreated to the corner of the bathroom. He dialed his mother. The phone rang, and he couldn’t stop the tears. The call went to voicemail, and Mark cried out his message. “Something’s wrong, mom! Something’s terribly wrong! Dad and Mary have me trapped in the bathroom and they won’t even talk to me!” he sobbed. He realized he had to get out, and glanced out the high window. It was a good fifteen feet above rose bushes, but it beat staying in this bathroom!. “I’m going to Trevor’s!” he said, suddenly having a plan. “Don’t come home until you talk to me!” He ordered, but he knew there was little chance of that. She was in Charleston, set to fly back on Friday, and he had cried to her over voicemail. Chances were he’d get calls and endless texts until he answered, once she got out of whatever meeting she was in. “I love you!” he sniffed, then hung up.

Mark texted Trevor, and when he didn’t get an reply, he wondered if maybe the same crap was happening to his friend. Still, he couldn’t stay home. He had to go somewhere!

Mary and dad continued to assault the door. Eventually, they’d shake the shelf to pieces. Eventually, the lock would give, and they’d be in the bathroom with him. He felt that couldn’t happen. Mark opened the window and pushed out the screen. He crawled out, keeping a good hold on the sill, then lowered himself as far as he could. He pushed off the wall of the house with hopes of clearing the roses.

Clipped by several branches as he dropped, Mark landed awkward on the rocky border of the flower bed, then rolled to haunches. His left ankle was sore and the roses scratched up his arm pretty good. There’d be a bruise or two on his left side—but he was no longer trapped! With a glance back at the window, Mark turned and hobbled around the side of the house, then limped down the street. Thankfully, he only had a few blocks to go.

Book 2: A Fire-Lighting Rabble-Rouser

Book 3: Rabbit Law

Chapter 1: The Day a Billion Indians Died

Before the troubles, my father made his money peddling pamphlets to discontents, stuff like, A Fire-Lighting Rabble Rouser, and Alone and Adrift the Conspira-Sea. This put him at odds with local authorities, especially as the troubles really kicked off in the late ‘20s. Still, dad was a tough man, a fist full of nails and glass, as he would have put it. For this reason, he not only survived the troubles, he prospered.

I was technically alive the day the troubles ended—June 18th, 2031—the day a billion Indians died. That’s the way the media put it: A BILLION INDIANS, DEAD! Father said it was an exaggeration—but not by much. Not that we heard about it for a good week. Everything was fried, all the electronics—anything that wasn’t hardened, or stowed away in a faraday cage.

You see, the Sun set off a micro-nova, or a massive flare, depending on how you wanted to describe it. It was high noon in India, and it was a bad day to be outside.

Of course, nobody really knows just how many people died. Did a billion Indians really die that day? Maybe. The world was such a mess, my dad believes several billion died the next few years—but that was scattered all across the world.

Our little corner wasn’t unaffected, but we survived it rather well. The micro-nova wasn’t all bad. It sure ended the wars in a hurry. Instead, everyone was scrambling just to survive. It was a good time for my father and his friends. There was finally nobody telling us what to do.

I was four years old when the sun exploded, so I remember it vividly, though the abnormality and the accompanying nuance of other events were lost on me. The Sun grew dark and red for several days before the micro-nova. People worried it was about to go out. There was a lot of hysteria about the Sun dying. But our star was just going a touch quiet before it cleared it’s throat.

It was night here when the sun flashed and insta-fried a billion Indians. It was night—until the borealis painted the sky a vibrant green, and rained down lightning on a cloudless night.

When it super-flared, the Sun also ejected the mass of a thousand earths, but almost all of it missed us. There were other cascading effects. For a couple days our magnetic field went wonky and the whole planet slowed in its rotation. Winds ripped across the land. Tsunamis crashed about and flattened the coasts. The sun took a new course across the sky as we wobbled and reoriented. That’s about when the impacts began. I’m told Eurasia and the Siberian Ocean saw the worst of it.

The Earth’s magnetic poles shifted, which is how the Siberian Ocean was pelted. Formerly known as the Arctic Ocean, it was renamed since that sea was no longer trapped at the north pole. Now, Malaysia is at the north pole, and the south pole is just off the coast of Peru. This also freed up Antartica—which became the hot place to war over resources.

My family was well positioned when the Earth flipped and started spinning in a whole new way. We lived in Guatemala, American expatriates among more of our own, so when the cold came, we just went back to our old ways. Father said it wasn’t worse than being in the Rockies. Sissy was born a few years later. She made eight. Momma said eight was enough, then went ahead and had two more. Why not? There was need for people, or so she said.

Fleshing out the first chapter. Expand the central idea of a micro-nova that kills a Billion Indians, decimates the planet, and shifts the earth’s poles. — 37m15s — 2020/09/11

Girl gets in trouble for punching Ebbot Mitchell in the crotch. At court, girl is fined 10$ for hitting him, then Ebbot Mitchell is fined for the value of the rabbits. 5$ a piece. Afterward, Boy tells Ebbot if he hits another one, he’s more than happy to lose five bucks at their next trial.

Chapter ?: Biloxi

Transcribed ?.1 and ?.2 — 24m54s — 2021/09/13

The Deep Dark South

The three family members arrived at the port in (?). “Get the first boat to Biloxi,” uncle said. I got a friend in town that owes me some money. I’ll be back in an hour.”

The first boat was an hour forty-five away. Uncle went into town as boy and girl waited on a shaded bench.

Uncle’s friend was a yapper—still, it was a substantial amount that uncle was owed, so if he could get the money, they could easily make it all the way across Canada. Indeed, if he got the full amount, it should get the three of them to Siberia in relative comfort. He tapped his foot impatiently as his friend yammered and reminisced about the good ol’ days, trying to recollect unimportant details. Finally, uncle interrupted. “This is all very nice, Harl. But I need the money and I need it now.”

Do you now?” Harl’s face turned dark and sinister. “Well ain’t that a crying shame?”

Uncle glared at his old associate. “You ain’t going to pay me?”

Harl shrugged. “Looks like the shoes are on the other feet,” he chuckled, then leaned over his desk. “I know you too well, you dirty son of a bitch, and I know that your all-powerful family is mostly ash,” he shrugged. “Wonder what part you played in that.”

Uncle snarled at the insinuation. “Fuck you,” he snapped, stood, and turned to leave.

Harl’s guard blocked the door. “No, fuck you,” Harl replied. “He’s gotta have a gun no him. Also, bring me his wallet, his watch—what else does he have?—oh those are some nice shoes.”

“You want his hat, boss?”

“Harl shook his head, “that ratty old thing?”

Uncle simply stood there, resigned to be robbed. He only wished it would all happen a little quicker. Finally, Harl and his henchmen were done. The guards got out of uncle’s way.

“I do love seeing you broken,” Harl chortled. “Do you know how happy it makes me, knowing I was the one to take the last of what you had?!”

Uncle shook his head as he stepped into the street and ran for the pier with only his socks to protect his toes. He cursed his stupidity. He knew Harl was a cold, vindictive man—but he was also a coward, and uncle had relied too much on that fear. He wondered how much it would cost him.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ ?.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Heading generally north, but turning west from time to time, Boy and Girl drifted over dirt roads. Traffic was sparse. They had plenty of supplies, and after the altercation in Biloxi, Boy wanted to steer clear of others for a while, so whenever they came to a sign indicating a population of any significance, they turned away. Before long, they were deep in the quiet backwaters of Mississippi.

Several times, Boy and Girl came to a wilderness area, and turned onto a game trail. They spent several days and nights drifting closer to the river as they moved north and camped in the wilderness.

Boy and Girl broke camp, then followed the trail heading north-ish. They’d been on it for a day already, and Boy was beginning to wonder if they’d come out of the wilderness before their supplies ran out.

The sun was only up a couple hours when they came to a road. “What do you say we go to town and load up on potatoes?” Boy asked Girl.

Girl smiled and nodded with her rabbit.

They turned west. They were on the road maybe half an hour when the first car passed them. The second came maybe five minutes later. Boy caught a good look of the driver. The man held a phone to his ear—wide-eyed as he stared at the siblings. About ten minutes later, the third car stopped.

Boy and girl ride a zeppelin from South America to Biloxi, Mississippi. They see a great deal of the ship, and everything is going easy. Boy even makes a few dollars playing his guitar for the other guests in the smoker’s lounge.

From Biloxi, Boy and Girl aren’t sure