Godead

XXIX (Act Three)

                                                 Act III: Paranoid Village

In the coming days, Blair drove north, traveling a thousand miles from Florida to Connecticut through the ruined eastern United States. A week later, she arrived in the small town of Pinewood, the place she'd spent her childhood growing up in. As she drove through the empty streets, she arrived at her childhood home, weakly looking out at the ruined residence. She left her car, approaching the house as she surveyed the ravaged suburban landscape. As she arrived at the front door, she found it ajar. Blair took a breath, lightly trembling as she warily pushed it open.

As the late evening sun set on the horizon, Blair stepped into the house, entering the dimly lit living room. She looked around, the faint stench of death lingering in the air.

"...Hello?" she said, shotgun in hand as she worriedly eyed her surroundings.

Blair was eighteen when she moved out and went to Florida. The last people to live in the house were her mother, father, and little brother who'd recently turned sixteen. Blair got along with her mother, but she and her father had many differences, which was the main reason Blair desired to move away. She was close with her brother Max, and her concern for him was her main motivation for coming back. As she received no reply from the silent house, she continued searching.

"...Mom? Dad?" she said, warily looking around. "...Max?" she called, getting no reply.

As she continued down the hall, she paused, suddenly detecting a faint moaning sound from her parents' room. She slowly entered, looking on in terror as she spotted her mother and father lying in bed. As they spotted her, their moans increased as they slowly rose to their feet, rushing toward Blair as her eyes grew wide. She hesitantly raised her shotgun, looking into her parents' dead eyes as they crept forward. She watched them approach, frowning as she tensely stepped away.

"...Mother... father...!" she said weakly.

The policewoman held the two in her sights, trembling as she carefully took aim. She wanted to pull the trigger, but simply couldn't bring herself to do it. She lowered her weapon, turning around before quickly rushing from the house, slamming the door shut before hurrying to the car. She got inside, starting the engine before looking back at the house one more time. She gave it one last glance, backing out before quickly driving away.

Blair took off down the street, fighting back tears as her zombie parents haunted her thoughts. As she continued driving, her concerns soon turned to her little brother, wondering if he'd met the same fate. As she turned a corner, she slowed down, suddenly spotting a group of people gathered outside a house. She slowed her car down, getting out as the others turned to her.

"What's going on here?" Blair asked, the group of six looking to her.

"Oh. A cop! Thank goodness. Maybe we can make sense of things, now," a middle-aged woman said.

"We're part of a group of survivors who've taken refuge nearby. This here's the mayor's house, and we've been trying to get him to help us for ages, now," a bearded man said.

"That guy's rich, and we know he's hoarding supplies up in that palace of his," another man said.

"I say we storm the place!" a middle-aged man exclaimed.

"Calm down. Nobody's storming anything," Blair said, making her way through the small crowd. She stepped up to the door of the mayor's residence, knocking several times as a voice hollered back.

"Go away!" a man yelled from inside.

"This is Officer Nightingale. Open the door," Blair said.

"I ain't openin' up for nobody! Cop or no cop!"

"Are you the mayor?"

"Yes, yes. Mayor Kyle Vaughn. Now go away. You people are contagious!" he replied.

"...Contagious?" Blair asked.

"Yeah. He thinks whatever's happening is some kind of airborne virus and that we've all got it," a woman in a blue dress said.

"Maybe he's right. That would explain why people have sporadically started changing as of late," a man added.

"What do you mean?" Blair asked.

"Until recently, there's been two types of people: affected and unaffected. It was easy to tell them apart, as the affected were all pale and groaning. Now, though, people who are normal one moment are becoming affected the next, going crazy and attacking people out of nowhere," the bearded man said.

"That's what happened to poor Tom early this morning. He was fine one minute, and the next, he went nuts and attacked his wife standing right next to him. Nearly clawed her face off. Had to put 'em both down...," the middle-aged man said grimly.

"...How horrible," Blair replied.

"Yeah. And what's worse, we're startin' to run outta supplies. It's been nearly a month now since everything went to hell. Everyone's guns are spent, and the local grocery store's been emptied out. But that bastard in there's got supplies!" the bearded man said, stepping forward before angrily pounding on the door.

"Alright, just take it easy. Who's in charge here, anyway? Do you all have someone leading you?" Blair asked.

"Yeah. Old Mick Patterson. He used to be in the army. He's doin' his best to hold things together," the middle-aged man said.

"Where is he now?"

"Back at the school gymnasium on Birkland Avenue. That's where everyone's holed up."

"How many of you are there?"

"About two dozen, countin' us," the bearded man said.

"I see. Take me to this Patterson. I'd like to have a word with him," Blair said.

"Sure. Follow us," the middle-aged man said, getting into their white, unmarked van as Blair got into her gray four door, the group driving a short distance before arriving at the local high school.