He stirs, the night air caressing his face from the tent's opening. He can hear sounds and a lot of them. All muffled yet loud, the loudest of all being a voice. Her voice calling to him, "Jason! Wake up!"
He sits up, his eyelids still heavy and his vision blurry. He can see her infront of him and he can feel her trembling hands grab his shoulders. She speaks again, "we have to go, now hurry up and get ready!"
He finally focuses and processes her words. All he can think to say is, "What?"
"The camp has been attacked," she firmly states, "we need to leave."
He's speechless. The sounds become more clear now. He can hear shouting and even some screams. His eyes widen in a new found terror, "where's Dad?"
She pauses, her hand hovering over a backpack on the tent floor. Her voice briefly loses its bravado, "He's helping deal with it. He told me to get you to the highway. He said he will find us there."
"Is it people?" The question leaves his lips in a soft whimper. He stares at her, a familiar Intensity in his eyes. She's seen the look before. It's the look of fear he's often expressed over the years. Only those times were over little things. Like spiders or a cracking branch outside his tent. Tonight is different. Tonight, his fear is shared by everyone. Including her. She sighs and adjusts the baseball cap on her head. A mannerism her father used to do often when he was stressed. Guess some apples don't fall far from the tree. Before her is a beat up backpack she had found during a supply run. It was one of many she had went on with her husband. John was always the brawn of the two. Lifting the heavy things and hunting while she did the more complex and tactical things. Her father had been smart like that and had taught her everything he knew. There's one thing she was never prepared for though. That thing being parenthood. She's tried her best to raise Jason right. She's even taught him things his grandfather taught her. Still, there's sometimes she simply has no idea what to do. She doesn't dare show it though. After all, the boy looks up to her. It's her job to guide him through life and make him am honorable man. Like his father. She's worried sick about John. Hell, she's worried sick about the whole camp. She's already seen some gruesome things tonight and prays that Jason won't notice what lies beyond the flaps of the tent. It's not exactly something she can control. He's gonna see it. If not now then someday in the future. That thought isn't reassuring, but then again nothing is right now.
"Mom," his voice steals her attention.
"Yeah?" She forces a smile, hiding her dread.
"I'm scared," he admits and for a moment the eighteen year old before her is once again a little boy. Her lip quivers as she moves towards him.
"I know," she whispers, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug, "I know."
The screams and shouts continue in the distance. Some are orders from the camp's brave defenders. The rest are the desperate cries of those unlucky enough to be alone. One particular scream is down right blood curtling. She knows what that means, but she keeps up a smile for her son. With that, the two leave the tent and enter an arena of pure hell. Tattered tents and broken arrows lay scattered across the clearing. Bodies lay in various positions in the grass. Some missing parts and others barely recognizable at all.
"Don't look," she tells him, "just stick close and follow me. Okay?"
He nods and holds her hand tightly in his own. The two pick up their pace, moving hastily through the remains of their camp. Somewhere in the tall trees, a howl echoes out. It sends shivers down both their spines, but they don't stop. They have to keep moving. They have to get to the highway.
Jason's eyes have been locked onto the grass beneath his feet. It's color drained by the darkness of the night. The only light they have is that of the full moon above. He's terrified and shaking like a leaf. He can hear the fighting. He can hear the death. The worst part isn't the sounds. No, it's the fact he doesn't know who is dying around him. It could be his friends. It could be his dad. The thought makes him shut his eyes tightly. He shakes his head in denial. Refusing to accept that as a possibility. He finds comfort in the touch of his mother's hand. He knows that as long as he's holding her hand, he'll be okay.
"Fall back!" A male voice screams from nearby. It's followed by the grunts and screams of other men and women. They're fighting something. Something that growls. The feral volcalization of the beasts is loud and overwhelming. Jason forces himself to look up in the direction of the noises. All he sees is a void with silhouettes moving about. No features. Just blurs that dance like paint spilled into a river. One thing shines through though. The color red. Blood is visible and so are the eyes of several beasts. Their growls are louder and their howls are nearer. His mother pulls on his arm and the two break into a run. The tree line is just up ahead, all they gotta do is run through a small chunk of evergreen forest.
"Jason!" A voice calls out behind them. He stops dead in his tracks. His mother stumbles and turns to see what's holding them up. A few feet away is a shape running toward them. Jason recognizes the face. The young man's name is Peter Horvach. He's relatively new to the camp. Him and Jason have talked a little on fishing trips. He considers him a friend. Only something is obviously wrong here. Peter is normally all smiles, but in this moment his eyes are wide. His mouth is hanging open too and screaming out for help. Jason watches as Peter is pushed forward and falls face first into the grass. Something lunges from the dark and pounces on him.
"Peter!" Jason cries out his name, resisting his mother's strong pull on his wrist.
"Help!" Peter cries out again, massive black claws ripping into his back. Blood sprays up into the air and across his shoulders. Tears of pain form in his eyes as he reaches out for his friend. The Jaws of the beast then clamp down on his shoulder. Peter lets out a shrill scream as sharp teeth rip skin from his body. More blood spurts out and Peter's cries fade to broken whimpers.
"Come on," Jason's mother persists, pulling him further from the scene, "there's nothing we can do!"
Jay's will crumbles and he allows her to pull him. He looks back, just in time to see a claw slash Peter's face open. His friend was dead, along with so many others. His mother's arm is now around him in a comforting embrace. The two enter the small forest and move quickly along. The noises do not cease and neither does the fear that has shaken him to his very core. Her worst fear just came a reality. Her son is now scarred for life. He experienced the carnage in the worst possible way and she couldn't do a damn thing about it. She needs to protect him. She needs to keep him safe now. For all she knows, they are the only two survivors. She has to prepare herself to be alone in this. She doesn't want John to be gone, in fact it's the last thing she wants. Still, the possibility is there and the odds are not in her favor. There's still hope and she'll hold onto that hope for as long as she can. If not for her, then for Jason.
"How much farther?" He stutters out the question as if it was a crime to say. His face is pale and his eyes are staring off into an unknown space.
All she can do is hold him close and say, "just a little bit farther. We're almost there."
It's felt like this night as lasted forever, but in reality it's only been a few hours. The camp was yards behind them now and the sounds had long but faded. No more shouting. No more screaming. No more howling or growling. Just silence and even that has become unmistakably eerie now. The trees are tall and dark, they're blurred shapes remind her of the legs of giants. She always did love fantasy novels and sometimes she lets her imagination run wild. In this instance, she's doing it as a coping mechanism. It's just easier to make believe and comfort her son than it is to dwell on the deaths of everyone she's known. Hardly any words are spoken. What would she say? There's nothing that could help this situation. Besides maybe a few more hugs and the promise of a better tomorrow.
A welcomed sight appears up ahead. It's the road. It's broken up into slivers and peices by the last few evergreens. They made it. Now, is John gonna be there? Please. Please John. Be here. We need you. I need you. Your son needs you.
Their feet touch the cracked asphalt. The highway is long and faded. Decades of neglect shows on its surface. The tall pines line both sides and rolling hills rise in the distance. The night air is crisp and calm once again. There's still a twinge of dread in it, though. She watches as Jason looks around, his expression antsy and distraught.
His eyes finally land on her, she's no longer smiling. His voice is soft and broken as he asks, "Where is he?"
"I don't know," she responds quickly, then adds, "I'm sure he'll be here any minute now."
"Dad?" Jason stutters, "Dad!"
"Shh," she pulls him into a hug, "shouting for him won't help. It'll only draw unwanted attention."
He wraps his arms tightly around her and buries his face in her shoulder. He then breaks down into tears. She rubs his back, fighting back her own tears. The two stand there for minutes on end. Waiting, but no one ever shows.
~
Sunlight streams through the boarded up windows of the store. She leans against the long rusted checkout counter. Her arms are fold across her chest and a stern frown is painted on her face. Her eyes show signs of exhaustion and her breathing is shallow. Her eyes are locked onto the road outside. She's still holding onto hope. Still believing that her husband is alive. That John will walk down that road any second now. She wipes a tear from her eye and then quickly looks over to her left. The store is dark and still like a dust covered painting. The shelves are empty and rotting. Any food that was here had been looted decades ago. What's left is either empty or useless. Lucky for them, they aren't here for supplies. They're here for shelter. She managed to find blankets in the basement and had discarded hers a few hours ago. As for her son, well he's still fast asleep on the floor. She's surprised Jason is sleeping at all. The night's events were obviously traumatic for him. She's not complaining though. It brings a genuine smile to her face to see him at peace.
A buzzing vibration alerts her. It's coming from her backpack. She quickly crouched down and digs through the stuff inside. Most of what she grabbed from the camp was food. She was thinking ahead and it was a good thing she did. Even if neither of them had much of an appetite last night. Other items inside include a sheathed hunting knife, and walkie-talkie. The latter is buzzing to life with static even as she pulls it out. It's old as hell, but has had several tune-ups over the years. They had a young man at camp who was good with tinkering. His name was Roger and he had fixed up walkie-talkies for all the higher ups in the camp. Meredith wasn't considered a higher up by any means. Neither was John, but Roger was a friend and made them one anyway. She wonders if he made it out.
The static continues and she presses a button to speak, "hello? Is someone there?"
The static breaks and a voice comes through, "yeah, who is this?"
"It's Meredith, Meredith Freywood. Are you from the Wright party?"
"Mrs. Freywood? Oh my god! It's me Mark. Are you okay?"
She remembers the name and the face that would go with it. Mark was a good friend of Jason's. He was also the camp's certified runner. He goes on every supply run no matter how big the risk. He's good with a map and is fast on his feet. He's a little older than Jay, but he's always kept him safe when it was just the two of them.
"Mark," she says his name fondly, "I'm fine. How about you?"
"I'm hanging on," he scoffs, "barely."
"Where are you?"
"Me and a few others were forced out of camp by the wolves. We're held up in an old asylum. We've got two injured. No bites."
"Good," she says, her authorative side coming back, "have you seen John?"
"Uh," Mark pauses, and some other voices can be heard before he continues, "afraid not. No one here has seen him since before the attack."
"Damn," she sighs, "Okay. Before you ask, Jason is fine. He's with me. We're staying in an old supermarket just off the highway."
"Thank god, I was worried about him. Well, you too of course. Mr. Freywood too."
"I know," she silently chuckles at his amusing awkwarness, "I'm worried about you too. Promise we'll keep in touch."
"We will," his voice becomes broken by static.
"Alright, you're cutting out. We'll talk later. Stay safe."
Static takes over the speakers again and she turns the volume knob down until the buzzing is a low hum. She then sits the walkie-talkie on the checkout counter and goes to check on Jason. He's shifted slightly, now on his back. The blanket pushed down to his waist. She smiles at his light snoring and sits beside him on the floor. Her hand runs through his messy brown hair with motherly care. He then stirs and his eyes flutter open to look at her.
"Mornin," she says softly.
"Morning," he mumbles back as he sits up, "What time is it? Did Dad show up?"
"Um," she sighs and adjusts her baseball cap, "the sun just started rising not too long ago and your dad is still not here."
"Oh," he frowns and looks around, his eyes adjusting to the dark store, "are we gonna wait for him?"
"No, I think we should go for a little walk."
"A walk?"
"Yeah," she stands up and offers him a hand.
He takes it and stumbles to his feet, "where are we going?"
"Well, I got a call on the walkie a minute ago."
"You did?"
"Mhm," she throws the backpack onto her shoulders, "it was Mark. He's with some others in an old asylum."
"A nut house?"
"Yeah," she chuckles, "fitting right?"
"Heh," he smiles at the joke, " yeah."
She reaches up and ruffles his hair before the two head out into the parking lot. A few cars sit forever parked in their spots. Their drivers long gone. The morning air is fresh against their cheeks and stings their nostrils with each breath. They make their way back to the highway and Meredith pulls a map from the side pocket of the backpack.
"Where'd you get that?" Jason's curiosity is matched by hers as she attempts to read the thing.
"In the store," she squints at the tiny print, "there were a bunch of them, but they've faded a little."
"Hard to read?"
"Very, but not impossible. Come on," she points left, "asylum must be that way."
"How do you know?"
"Well," she refers to the map, "there's only one building labeled on here that sounds anything like a nut house. If that ain't it, I don't know what is."
Jason nods and trusts his mother's choice to go left. Even though it was the direction they had came from the night before. The thought of getting closer to the camp again scared him. He could still see those red eyes everytime he closed his own. He finds himself holding his mother's hand again. He feels safer doing that and isn't about to let go any time soon.
~
The sun was up in the sky like a beacon that shined down upon them. It was still morning and a few birds were flying over head. Meredith stops and holds a cautious arm out infront of Jason. He knows this gesture as a sign to stop. She gestures to something up ahead and it doesn't take long for him to spot it. A large brick and sandstone building rests like a castle on the otherside of a grand parking lot. It's design is old, but intricate. It's a beautiful yet haunting structure.
"We're here," she says with a smile.
"Are you sure this is a nut house? I mean," he pauses to look at it again, "it's so cool looking."
"Yeah, it's a nut house. That's the ironic part about the old world kiddo. The worst places on earth looked the prettiest from the outside. I guess the same can still be said about people."
He quickly adds, "never judge a book by its cover."
"Exactly," she ruffles his hair, "now come on."
She leads him across the parking lot, taking in the sights around the asylum. A mountain stands tall off to the left. It's covered in colorful flowers and a few tall trees. On the right is a river bank that consists of tall swaying grass and red clay mud. The river water is still and calm, the occasional croak of a toad coming from it's winding shape. The doors to the asylum are and odd plain wood that contrasts heavily with the rest of the asylum. It's quite obvious that the original doors were torn down a long time ago. These were merely replacements that so far had been doing a pretty good job. The knob is cold in her hand and twists with ease. The interior is dark and silent.
"Stay cautious JJ," she says as her hand finds the bolstered knife on her hip.
"Okay," he whispers and follows her inside.
The atmosphere is musty and smells like the pages of an old book. The walls are moldy in spots and the floor is splintered and rotted. Every step sends a loud creak through the halls and cobwebs hang from every corner. Meredith wastes no time retrieving the walkie-talkie from her backpack. She turns up the volume and presses the button in, "Mark. Can you hear me?"
Static shoots out followed by his cheerful voice, "loud and clear. What's up?"
"We think we found the asylum you're held up at. We'd appreciate it if you could meet us by the front door."
"Oh you're here?" Mark seems surprised and there's a lot of noise over the speakers as he moves around. A few other muffled voices can be heard in the background. Discussing and planning as the two stood there uncomfortably in the lobby.
Mark then returns, "Okay we're heading up there now. Just sit tight."
"Will do," She says with a hint of sarcasm.
Minutes pass and soon a warm light appears down one of the hallways. With it comes three familiar faces. Holding the lantern is Mark with his tan skin and messy hair. He smiles brightly upon seeing Meredith and Jason.
"Jason!" He shouts, his voice echoing as he rushes to give him a hug. The other two watch with content expressions. Meredith recognizes them as some of Duncan's so called guards. They took on the title for protecting the camp. From the looks of it they gave it their all during the attack. Their clothes are ripped and stained with blood and dirt.
"You know Bob and Tony," Mark gestures to the two men, "they helped us get here."
"Yeah," Meredith softly replies, "are the Wrights here too?"
"One of them," Mark's smiles fades, "Zeke got separated from Farrah during the chaos. Duncan? Well, he led the first defense against the wolves. No one's seen any sign of him or John since."
"Nothing? At all?" Jason asks in disbelief, "how is that possible?"
"It shouldn't be," Tony responds, "but it's true. I guess there was just too much going on."
"Don't worry," Bob chimes in, "we'll find them. No matter what."
"Hell yeah," Mark shouts, trying to lift the mood, "in the meantime, how about we go eat?"
"You have food here?" The surprise is evident in Meredith's voice.
"Yep," Mark jabs a thumb over his shoulder, "mess hall is back that way. There was some MRE's stored away in the kitchen. Guess you could say we got lucky."
"You can say that again," she smirks, "lead the way. We're starvin."
Mark raises the lantern and leads everyone back through the hall. Several closed off rooms line the path there. The doors that are open lead to dark voids filled with unknown silhouettes. A few rusty wheelchairs rest against the walls and old corroded wires hang from broken lights on the ceiling. The place is an eerie dimension of unease that is unlike anything Jason has ever seen. His mother was right, the outside is nothing like the inside. The hall bends into a sharp turn and soon the five of them find themselves infront of double doors. Mark reaches out and pulls on one of the handles, "we're here."
With a firm tug the door swings open and sunlight is cast upon their faces. The cafeteria is a large room with a back wall made of glass. Allowing for a perfect natural light that makes the place a little more bearable. Several tables sit in the room, most are covered in dust. A large counter sits caticornered to the right. Behind it are a few people, organizing the aforementioned MREs. Elsewhere in the room, two girls stand by a series of gray trash cans. Their conversation is unheard.
"Wow," Jason says bluntly.
"Something ain't it?" Mark smiles and begins heading towards the counter. Jason recognizes Zeke sitting there along with Roger the tinkerer and a guy named Isaac. He's from Mexico and moved to Nebraska. That's where the group had found him while camping a few miles away from a trading center. His english isn't the best, but he tries. He even taught Jason a few spanish words which he still remembers. The women in the corner are also people he's spoken with quite often. The one on the left is a tall dark haired girl who wears glasses and always has a book in her hand. Her name is Sarah Dalton. The shorter girl next to her is one of Duncan's guards. She's a tough chick who used to show Mark and Jason her knife throwing skills during her breaks. Her name is Lori.
"Make yourselves at home," Tony says warmly, "you're welcome to rest as long as you'd like."
"Thank you," Meredith smiles, "come on JJ, let's go eat some breakfast."
The two join Mark by the counter and Roger prepares some breakfast MREs for them. It's not much, but it's better than anything they could've anticipated. A camp of nearly fifty was attacked and now ten remain. All gathered here in one place. Some hurt, others traumatized, but all of them are tired.
Meredith sits in silence as she eats, her mind wandering away from the cafeteria and away from the asylum. Jason's mind rests contently in the confines of the cafeteria. He doesn't think of what happened. He doesn't want to. He worries for his dad, but part of him knows he's just fine. Dad might not be as strong as Mom, but he is strong. He'll make his way back to them. If he doesn't? Well, Mom will make her way back to him and most likely drag Jason with her.