Bloodlines of Survival

Chapter 9: Grandm's house

Gwen stared at herself in the rearview mirror, her hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel. Her eyes—once a warm, inviting brown—were now pitch black, the pupils having swallowed up every hint of color. They were the eyes of a monster, the kind of thing that had once lurked in the shadows of her nightmares, but now stared back at her from the mirror.

She tore her gaze away, focusing on the road ahead. The countryside stretched out before them, a winding ribbon of cracked asphalt bordered by the decaying remnants of a world that had long since lost its innocence. The children were quiet in the backseat, their eyes hollowed with the kind of sorrow that no child should ever have to bear.

It had been days since they left the house, packing only what they could carry into their SUV. The home that had once been their refuge was now a graveyard of memories, haunted by the loss of Jamie and the life they'd known. Gwen couldn't stay there, not with his blood still staining the floor, not with his voice still echoing in her mind.

She had to get the kids to safety, somewhere far away from the darkness that was consuming her. Her mother's house had always been a sanctuary, a place where she had felt loved and protected. Maybe there, she could keep the kids safe. Maybe there, she could hold on to what little humanity she had left.

But the hunger gnawed at her, a constant, insidious presence in the back of her mind. She could feel it, like a living thing coiled inside her, whispering temptations she struggled to ignore. The scent of raw meat called to her, making her stomach twist with a sickening blend of hunger and revulsion. As long as she avoided it, she thought, she could keep control. She clung to that belief like a lifeline.

"Mom, are we there yet?" Samantha's voice broke through the silence, small and fragile.

"Almost, sweetheart," Gwen replied, forcing a smile. She glanced back at her daughter, trying to ignore the way her black eyes must look to the children. "Just a little further."

Kohl was quiet, his gaze focused out the window. He had been more withdrawn since Jamie's death, his usual curiosity replaced by a silence that unnerved Gwen more than anything else. The twins had always been inseparable, but now they seemed to be drifting apart, each lost in their own grief.

"Do you think Nana's house is safe?" Kohl asked suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Gwen hesitated, her heart aching at the uncertainty in his voice. She wished she could give him a definitive answer, wished she could promise him that everything would be okay. But the world didn't work that way anymore.

"I hope so," Gwen said softly. "Nana lives in the countryside, far from the cities. It's quiet there, and it should be safe."

She saw Kohl nod slowly, but his expression remained troubled. She couldn't blame him. They had seen too much, lost too much. The world was no longer a place where children could afford to hope.

As they drove, the landscape around them began to change. The remnants of civilization grew sparser, replaced by dense forests and rolling hills. It was beautiful in a haunting, desolate way—a stark reminder of what the world had been and what it had become.

Gwen's thoughts drifted back to Jamie. The memory of his face, the warmth of his touch, were like ghosts that lingered in her mind. She missed him with a depth of pain that was almost unbearable. He had been her anchor, the one who had kept her grounded when the world was falling apart. Now, she was adrift, struggling to hold on to the fragments of herself that remained.

She had promised him that she would protect the kids, but with each passing day, that promise felt more and more like a lie. The virus inside her was relentless, eroding her humanity piece by piece. How long before she lost herself completely? How long before she became a danger to the very people she had sworn to protect?

The thought of what she might become terrified her, but she couldn't let it show. The kids needed her to be strong, to be their mother, even if she was teetering on the edge of becoming something else entirely.

"We're here," she said, her voice tight as she pulled the SUV into the long gravel driveway that led up to her mother's house. The sight of the familiar old farmhouse brought a fleeting sense of relief, but it was quickly swallowed by the anxiety that had taken root in her chest.

The house looked much as she remembered—quaint, with its white-painted walls and green shutters, a small garden out front overgrown with wildflowers. But the windows were dark, and there was an unsettling stillness in the air, as if the world had taken a deep breath and held it.

Gwen parked the car and turned to the kids. "Stay close to me, okay?" she said, her voice firm but gentle. "We'll go inside together."

Samantha and Kohl nodded, their small hands gripping the straps of their backpacks as they followed Gwen to the front door. Gwen hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the door handle, a thousand fears racing through her mind. But she pushed them aside and opened the door.

The house was quiet—too quiet. The air was stale, heavy with the scent of dust and disuse. Gwen called out, but there was no response. Her heart sank.

"Nana?" Samantha called, her voice trembling with a mix of hope and fear.

Still nothing.

Gwen's instincts screamed at her that something was wrong. She gestured for the kids to stay behind her as she cautiously moved deeper into the house. Every shadow, every creak of the floorboards set her nerves on edge.

When they reached the living room, Gwen's fears were confirmed. The furniture was overturned, and there were signs of a struggle—broken glass, splintered wood, and the unmistakable dark stains on the floor. Gwen's breath caught in her throat, the hope that had carried her this far evaporating in an instant.

"Mom..." Kohl's voice was small, filled with dread.

Gwen turned, pulling the twins close to her. She had to think fast, had to make a plan. The house wasn't safe, that much was clear. But where could they go? There were no more safe places, no more sanctuaries.

She fought to keep her emotions in check, to suppress the rising tide of despair. The darkness inside her stirred, feeding off her fear and frustration. It would be so easy to let it take over, to give in to the hunger. But she couldn't—not in front of the kids. Not when they needed her to be strong.

"We need to leave," she said, her voice trembling with barely contained fear. "We can't stay here."

Samantha and Kohl nodded, their faces pale, their eyes wide with fear. They didn't argue, didn't ask questions. They simply followed Gwen as she led them back to the SUV.

As they drove away from the farmhouse, Gwen's mind raced with possibilities, but every option felt like a dead end. The world outside was a wasteland, teeming with dangers she couldn't even begin to comprehend. She didn't know where they were going, didn't know if they would ever find safety again.

But as she glanced back at her children—at the tired, frightened expressions on their faces—she knew one thing for certain: she would do whatever it took to keep them safe. Even if it meant embracing the darkness inside her. Even if it meant becoming the very thing she feared most.

As they drove further into the unknown, the temptation of the virus gnawed at her, the hunger growing stronger with every passing mile. She clenched her teeth, focusing on the road ahead. She couldn't afford to lose control—not now, not ever.

But deep down, she knew it was only a matter of time.