Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep337: Episode 337: Zombie Horror Stories

Episode Date: May 13, 2026

Tonight’s fabulous opening story is ‘On the Run’, an original work by HiImApollo1, kindly shared with me via the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license.https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/On_The_Runhttps://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:HiImApollo1Today’s closing tale of the macabre is ‘Symbiosis: The Beginning’, a wonderful story by Alice B. Sullivan, read here with the author’s express permission. https://neoread.neovel.io/user/7652/alice-b-sullivanPlease also check out her book ‘The Collapse’ on Amazon:https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09BDFBN89

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I was just safe for a event and 6126-E dealer for warranty details. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's dungeon. Zombies terrifies because they strip away everything that makes us human while leaving just enough behind to feel horribly familiar. They are death walking in our own skin. Blood once transformed into empty relentless creatures driven only by hunger. Now, unlike many monsters, zombies cannot be reasoned with frightened or stopped by mercy and their numbers grow with every victim they claim.

At their core, zombie stories type into one about deepest fears, disease, societal collapse, loss of identity, and the horrifying idea that humanity itself could become the source of its own extinction. As we shall see in tonight's two tales. As ever before we begin, a word of caution, tonight's stories may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. On the Run, by Hillm. Apollo.

Mr. Mac had been driving for almost a week, and they hadn't seen a single song. They were worried. When they left the ranch, they thought maybe they'd run into someone, another survivor. But there was no one. The roads were almost empty. There was the occasional abandoned car, but that was it.

They drove mostly on highways to make better time. Back wondered if they might not have better luck on the smaller country roads, but Dennis wouldn't have it. Those roads had curves and were thick with trees. There was no way of seeing danger coming. If somebody wanted to spring a surprise on you, you wouldn't know it until it was too late.

When the plate came, Dennis and Mack had been working as ranch hands on a cattle farm. Both had just finished their first year of college. Dennis went to school on the East Coast, Mack on the West. They found that they were very similar people. The first studied hard and read a lot of books, but they also both like being outdoors. At the end of a good day, they came home smelling of sweat and dirt, and they quickly became friends. The ranch was a small family-run operation, only about 50 head of cattle. The family that ran it, the Grierson's, would advertise in college newspapers in the spring.

There were plenty of ranch hands in the area who needed work, but Bucky Grierson felt city kids could benefit from experience. exposure to country life. Young men would apply, and then the Grierson's would hire about half-dozen hands every spring to help them run cattle. It was tough work, but Dennis and Mack felt lucky to be picked. The farm didn't have a TV or the internet or a telephone, and as a result, the first they heard of the plague was on the radio. Every night the ranch hands liked to gather in the mess hall and play cards.

While they played, they listened to the radio. Well, the ranch was so far up in the hills that the radio only got one station. At night they listened to the station's best DJ, PD the Muskrat Coltrane, who spun old bluegrass records. Sometimes between records, the Muskrat told stories. Dennis and Mac thought he was hilarious. One night, though, the Muskrat's radio show was very different. Couldn't have been more than six months ago,

but to Dennis and Mack, thinking back on it now, it felt like another lifetime. The muskrat had been playing a cheery Bill Monroe song for Prince in the Snow, when he cut out the record halfway through the chorus. The ranch hand stopped their game of Gin Rummy. They turned and looked at the radio. The muskrat always played a record all the way through.

What could be wrong? Folks, said the muskrat. I don't know how to tell you this, but I'm going to ask you to stay very calm. The manager of my station has just passed me a note. It seems that the local health authorities are asking us radio folks to tell you our listeners that, well, a disease is spreading. The ranch hands put down their cards.

Dennis and Mac exchanged a glance. Now, the muskrat said, his rich voice sounding uncharacteristically shaky. They don't quite know what the disease is, but it's real bad. Oh, it's very contagious, and people who get it don't have. have a lot of luck recovering. Now doctors are trying to figure out a cure, but there's been no luck yet, so in the meantime, we're asking that you stay in your homes as much as possible and avoid public places until the disease dies down. One of the ranch hands, a big cocky boy named T.J. laughed. Like, heck, I'm not going in the town. T.J. chuckled. I got a date. The other ranch hand

stared at him. T. T.J. stopped laughing. Please, folks, do what. the doctor say, the muskrat pleaded, I'm sure it'll just be for a few days. And he was quiet for a moment. Then the ranch hands heard the sound of a turntable needle hitting the record. An old Earl Scrugg song came on. That was just the beginning of it. For the next few days, the ranch went about its business.

The Grierson's told the boys not to worry that this would all be over soon. They had enough food on the ranch to last months. And in the meantime, there were plenty of new calves that needed. branded branding. At night, everyone gathered around the radio and listened to updates. The news seemed to only get worse. More and more people were getting sick. The symptoms were very strange. People would become violently ill, then fall into a long, deep sleep. The big cities, New York, Los Angeles, Chicago have become like ghost towns. No one would go out into the street for fear of catching the disease. The news kept getting worse until finally the radio station

stopped transmitting. The Grayson's called a meeting in the dining room of the main house. Everyone sat around the big dining table room where Angreson served Sunday supper. After everyone was seated, Bucky Grayerson stood up. He was a short plump man with a droopy handlebar mustache. You wouldn't think you're looking at him, but his voice boomed. Now, he said, and all you're worried about your families and don't feel right at chaining you here, well, you don't know what's becoming your people. So, anyone who wants to leave

is free to go. Anne and I will make do. Dennis and Mac looks at each other. They talked about leaving, but tried to pretend they wouldn't need to. They'd hoped the plague would soon be over, but the world would return to the way it was, that it had all been a strange hallucination. Now they have the option to venture out into the world, to see how bad things really were, they weren't sure they wanted to know. By sure hands, Bucky Grierson said. How many of you want to leave? Mark and Dennis looked around.

They were the only two with their hands up. The Grisons gave them enough food to last a couple of weeks. Corned bread and apples and cured ham and syrupy peaches in mason jars. Mac and Dennis packed up their things and loaded everything into Mac's truck, a sputtering old pickup. Grisons and the ranchans gathered around to see them off. You be safe, boys, said Anne Gerson, kissing them each on the cheeks and hugging them hard. When, remember your manners.

As Mac and Dennis pulled away, they saw her husband holding her, a body shaking with sobs. A week later, Mac and Dennis had zigzagged through dozens of small towns and a few larger cities. What they found frightened them. Every place was empty. Not a person was out. Sometimes they'd stop and knock on doors. No one would answer. If they went inside, they wouldn't find a single soul home.

Sometimes they'd find the dinner table set, plates piled high with moulding food. Every time they entered a new room, they both winced, thinking they'd find a dead body. But they never did. It was indescribably eerie. Sometimes if the place still got electricity, They try to use the phone, when every time no matter what number they dialed, the same recorded message came on.

The number is not in service. Please check the number and try again. Finally, the young men decided to make tracks to the nearest big city. It would be a full day of driving, but there had to be someone there. You can't abandon a whole city. Dusk had come when Mack was at the wheel. Dennis had been driving for the last eight hours and was taking a nap in the paper. passenger seat. They were passing through a long, flat piece of pasture land when Mack saw a flicker of movement in the distance. Stop the car, turned off the engine, and shook Dennis awake.

Look, Mac said excitedly, I think someone's coming. Dennis squinted his eyes. The flicker of movement was becoming larger. What had been a dot of motion became a long line, stretching across the horizon. Mac and Dennis strained to see. I think it's some people, said Dennis. Now, let me get my binoculars. He rustled in his backpack and poured out his pair. Dennis put them to his eyes and looked through them. Mac heard him gasp.

My gosh, whispered Dennis. What he saw was people. Thousands of people, hundreds of thousands, maybe a million. A swarm of people like the world had never seen. And the people were all running. They were running as fast as they could go, like something was chasing them,

or like they were chasing something. As they grew closer, Dennis could just make out the people's faces. Their eyes were wild. Start the car, said Dennis. The swarm of crazed people was rushing toward them. Mac turned the keys in the truck's ignition. The engine sputtered,

refused to turn on. Hey, try again, said Dennis. Matt turned the keys again, and again the engine coughed, and the emergency lights flickered before it cut out. Matt tried to stay calm, but he felt a wave of cold panic. Keep trying the engine, said Dennis. I'll hop out and try to push the truck to start. Dennis jumped out of the truck and ran to the back.

Shub the truck's bumper, pushing all of his wheels, waked against the vehicle. Inside the truck, Mack kept turning the key in the ignition. Dennis could hear the angry roar of the mob as they grew closer. Dennis gave one final push and felt the truck move. He scrambled into the truck's bed. Go, go, go, go! he screamed at Mack. Mac turned the truck into a U-turn. The wheel screeched as the back of the truck swung around. In the truck's bed, Dennis directly faced the people running at them. Well, he no longer needed binoculars to see their wild eyes.

The crowd was only 20 feet away. Oh! Dennis screamed again, and Mack slammed on the gas. Truck sped forward, and Dennis clung to the sides of it to keep from falling off the back. It was drenched in sweat now, and his hands were still shaking. Mac and Dennis drove back the way they'd come, away from the city and the hordes. Once they'd driven far enough that they thought it was safe. to stop, Mack pulled over to the side of the road. He paused the truck just long enough for Dennis

to jump back into the passenger seat. "'Were those zombies?' asked Mack. "'I don't know,' said Dennis. Whatever they were, they didn't seem completely human. That must be what the plague does to people.' The young men talked over the next move as they drove. Big cities seemed dangerous, but the small towns were abandoned. Should they head back to the ranch? Go deeper into the wood. wilderness, or try to find other survivors who were also on the run. Well, there was no easy answer. No matter what decision they made, it would be risky. Let's stop at the next gas station and fill up some extra containers, said Mack.

We need to get more gas. I don't want to be low on fuel the next time we come across a group like that. Dennis stared out of the window silently. He was hoping they would never come across a group like that again. It passed a gas station a few miles down the road. They approached it slowly, checking for signs of life, but there were none. Dennis hopped out and opened the gas cap. The gas pump seemed to be working, so he filled up the truck's tank.

Once the tank was full, Dennis began filling up extra containers and putting them in the truck's bed. Mac decided to go inside the gas station to look for additional food and supplies. They still had some cornbread and apples from the ranch, but he didn't know when they'd be able to stop again. Mack was beginning to realize that life as he knew it was over. They needed to be ready to survive. Yeah, I'm going to head inside to find extra food, Mack said to Dennis. Here are the keys to the truck.

You ready to get in and drive away quickly. We have to make a fast escape. Dennis nodded and took the keys. Be careful, Mac, he said. Who knows what you'll find in there? Mac opened the door to the gas station slowly. The inside was dark and silent. "'Hello?' he called.

"'Anybody there?' Mac flipped switch on the wall and fluorescent lights flickered on. He looked around at the empty store. There were signs of a struggle. Bags of chips and candy were trampled on the floor. One of the glass refrigerator doors had been torn off its hinges.

Mac stood, hoarding his breath, listening. All he heard was the hum of the refrigerators and the sound of Dennis filling up outside. Mac grabbed a few plastic bags from the counter, filled them with enough supplies for a few more weeks, trail mix, bottled water, medicine, granola bars and jars of peanut butter. Mac wondered if you should pay for these things. I wasn't sure if the owner of the gas station was even alive.

Mac and Dennis might need the money later on. Then Mac remembered Anne Grayson's goodbye back at the ranch. She told them to remember to remember remember their manners. Mac didn't want to let her down. He reached into his wallet and found a $20 bill. He just placed it on the counter when he heard a sound behind him. Mac froze. He wasn't alone in the store. Part two. Outside, Dennis had filled up six containers with gasoline. He climbed into the front seat and put the keys in the ignition. He turned on the radio, but all he could find was static.

Dennis kept moving the dial searching for a station. Suddenly, a static cleared and he heard a voice. Is anyone out there? The voice said. It was a girl's voice. My name's Anna Johnson. This is my father's radio kit. He's gone now.

The plague arrived in Sunnydale one week ago. The girl's voice shook with sobs. I just want to know if there's anyone else out there. Anyone who's still human. Dennis felt horridor. horrible for her. He and Mac at each other, but Anne was all alone. Dennis looked back at the clock now. It had been 15 minutes. He felt uneasy. Shouldn't have taken Mac this long to grab a few supplies. Suddenly, he heard his name. Dennis, Dennis! Mac was crying out for him from inside the store.

Dennis jumped out of the car and ran toward the entrance. Dennis. Dennis. Dennis Mac sounded frantic This raced across the parking lot toward the gas station Yeah, I'm coming Mac He heard to his friend

And burst into the store Mac was at the counter When Dennis walked in Mac pointed to the back of the store The door of the men's bathroom was slowly creaking open Just then the door swung wide And a man appeared

The man's hair Was matted and disheveled His clothes were ripped and dirty. Parts of his skin were covered in deep purple and black marks. Even from the door, Dennis could detect the man's stench. He smelled like the fermented slop that they fed to pigs on the ranch. It was obvious that the plague had gotten this man. He hovered in the doorway of the bathroom, looking first at Mack and then at Dennis.

His eyes were red and bloodshot, and they rolled around in his sockets, unable to focus. Ah, the man growled, and drool dripped down his chin as he stepped forward. Mack, said Dennis quietly, backing toward the front door. Let's get out of here. Mac began edging toward the door too, taking the bags of food and supplies with him. Suddenly, the crazed man lurched forward and started running toward the two younger men. Thinking quickly, Dennis reached out of the two younger men.

Dennis reached out of the shelves of soup behind him. He threw the cans at the man as hard as he could. Back when he and Mack lived on the ranch, Dennis used to throw stones to scare off the coyotes. He had a strong throwing arm and good aim. One of the cans hit the crazed man square in the face, and he crumpled to the ground. "'He, don't go near the body,' said Dennis. "'We don't know if he's contagious.' "'Don't worry.

"'I'm not going anywhere near it,' said Mac. Let's get out of here. They turned to exit when they heard another slow creek. Mack and Dennis paused. There was still someone else in the gas station. They turned around and saw that now the door to the women's bathroom was opening. Dennis picked up more cans and handed a few to Mack. They watched the door and readied themselves to throw the cans as soon as a target came into view.

Hello? The young boy stuck his head out from the bathroom. Couldn't have been more than six or seven years old? Is it safe? He asked. Mac and Dennis looked at the boy. He seemed healthy but scared. Yeah.

How long have you been in there? asked Mack. Oh, day or two, said the boy. I locked myself in. I saw a group of people coming. They look dangerous, so I hid. There's no one else around anymore. Dennis and Mac exchanged a look.

They couldn't leave this kid here alone to fend for himself. He wouldn't last a week. Grab some supplies and come with us, said Dennis. We're looking for other survivors. The boy followed the two young men to the truck and climbed between them. As they drove, Dennis and Mac learned that the boy's name was Jeremiah. His parents had worked in one of the big hospitals in the city. When the plague hit, they'd volunteered to help nurse the first victims.

and his parents had never come home. Jeremiah had waited a week and then tried to go to the hospital. No one was there. The entire building was abandoned and vacant. I don't know what happened to them, said Jeremiah. So I left the city on my bike. I rode and rode until I came to the gas station. I thought I was safe until a new group of plague people showed up.

Dennis and Mack nodded. You knew how many families had been ripped apart by this plague. The important thing now was figuring her out their next step. Dennis told Mack that he'd heard the voice of a girl on the radio. Her name was Anna. She was the last one alive in her town, Sunnydale. She was on her father's radio kit looking for others, said Dennis. Mac looked at Dennis.

Well, we're going to Sunnydale, aren't we? He asked. Dennis nodded. And then? asked Jeremiah. Mac cleared his throat. He had an idea. Mac pointed out that it was too dangerous to go to the cities and that they only had enough gas to drive another 400 miles.

The safest thing to do would be to somewhere rural. They should head to a place where they could set up a strong defence. Then they could wait out the plague for a few more weeks before trying to find other survivors. Dennis thought about Mack's plan. It made sense. Okay, he said. We look for Anna first. It might be her only chance at survival.

In his head, Dennis could still hear the girl's voice and her sobbing and she made her radio broadcast. The sun was setting when the truck pulled onto the main street of Sunny Day. How are we going to find her? asked Matt. Can't just knock on every door in this town. Dennis was fiddling with the radio again. Let's see if we can hear her, he said. Maybe she'll say her address.

The static glared. There again was Anna's voice. She was still broadcasting. Is anyone there? Anyone listen? Suddenly, Anna's voice stopped. Young men heard a pounding on the door in the background. There was a crash and then sounds of a struggle.

Dennis gripped the wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white. They were too late. Look, cried Jeremiah. On the main street, the doors to one of the houses had opened. A teenage girl was running out. She looked terrified, but not like the wild members of the swarm. Something else came out of the house chasing her. Jump in the truck, screamed Matt.

The girl ran and leapt into the back of the truck, and Dennis hit the accelerator. There was a howl of frustration from the plague person as his victim escaped. Uh-oh, said Jeremiah. that doesn't look good. He pointed to the girl's leg. The zombie had cut a long gash in her shin. The wound was already starting to turn dark purple. That doesn't look good.

Dennis and Matt glanced at each other. Then over their shoulders at the girl. She was huddled in the back of the truck. Her eyes were wide with horror as she stared down at the gash in her leg. Dennis forced his own gaze back to the road ahead of him. "'Sunnydale was shrinking quickly in the rear-view mirror. "'For a second, the only noise was the truck's engine "'as the group sped across the abandoned countryside.

"'Well, I guess we found Anna,' said Mack. "'Now what?' "'Let's find a safe spot like we planned,' replied Dennis. "'Maybe we can set up camp in the woods around here.' "'Gesture to the west where a thick tree-line rose up not far from the road. whether the seclusion it offered was inviting or ominous nobody could decide will Anna be okay

Jeremiah piped up looking worried he turned and mouthed are you all right through the rear windshield and she gave a weak nod I'm sure she'll be okay said Mack with confidence he didn't want the boy who was clearly scared

to panic but Mac felt close to panic himself. Would Anna be okay? He looked at Dennis, whose forehead brow, suggested that he was having the same thoughts. Mac glanced back at Anna again. She was hugging her legs to her chest,

where her forehead was pressed against her knees. Mac saw that she was shaking. He couldn't tell if it was from the bumping of the truck or the uneven road, or from crying. The wound on her legs stood out angrily against her pale skin. "'Yeah, how do you think the plague spreads?' asked Mack carefully. "'I mean, how does someone turn into a zombie?' Dennis shuddered.

"'Then seemed to steal himself.' "'It doesn't matter,' he said firmly. "'We saved her, and we're going to help her. "'Gee, her leg is a mess.' He stared the truck gently off the road toward the tree line. He slowed down, not wanting to jostle Anna in the back of the truck. Magnotic. So, uh, we're a party of four now.

Well, if I learned anything from my time on the farm, it's how to clean up messes. He tried to force some cheer into his voice, for his own sake, as much as for his companions. Jeremiah, you don't happen to take anything from the first aid aisle in the gas station, did you? Jeremiah rifled through the stash of items he'd grabbed. The gas station now seemed like ages ago.

"'Hey, uh, band-aids.' The boy held up a box of brightly-colored Spider-Man bandages triumphantly, or hand sanitizer. He looked so hopeful that Mack had to suppress a laugh. "'Ah, perfect,' Mac replied. "'She'll feel better in no time. "'This seems like a good place to start for now,' said Dennis. "'Fortunately, the woods was sparse enough

"'that he'd managed to inch the truck through. "'They stopped at a clearing. Dennis parked the truck and removed the keys from the ignition. He let out of breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. I think we're safe for now. He opened the door, hopped out and turned toward the back of the truck. You must be Anna. I'm Dennis and they're a Mac and Jeremiah. He indicated his companions.

We heard you on the radio. You're okay? Anna stood up, still shaky, and clambered out from the back of the truck. truck. You saved me. Her voice was ragged and breathless. I thought I was a goner. Thank you so much. Matt came around to the side of the truck and put a steadying hand on her shoulder. Don't mention it, he said. We'd better take a look at that cut. He led her to a rock where she could sit while he attended to her leg.

This is going to sting, he told her apologetically, holding out the bottle of her. Holding out the of hand sanitizer. And that just means it's working. Anna nodded bravely and bit her lip. She winced as the clear gel made contact with the wound, but she didn't complain. Do you... A voice trailed off into a whisper. Do you think I'm going to become one of them?

Mark didn't have to ask what she meant by them. With more confidence than he felt, he replied, no way. the worst you'll get is a cool scar and a heck of a story to go along with it. If anything, you'll end up with superpowers from these Spider-Man Band-Aids. Anna managed a small smile as Mac finished dressing the wound. Despite his joke, he was worried. Maybe it was his imagination, but the gash seemed to be intensifying in color.

It had deepened into an unnatural shade of purple that was glowed in the fading daylight. Anxiety gnawed at his stomach. He hastily covered the cut with the friendlier hues of the bandages. Ah, you're all set. He tried to grin then. Ah, let's see how Dennis and Jeremiah are doing. Dennis and Jeremiah had set up camp as the sunset. They used old blankets and tarps from the truck to create improvised beds.

Four companions looked at each other, unsure what to do next. If not for the frightening circumstances, it would have felt like a fun camping trip. Nobody had much of an appetite, and they were all exhausted. "'Well, we can make plans in the morning,' Dennis said. "'Right now I'm too tired to think.' The others agreed and tucked themselves in as well as they could. Balling up his jacket to use as a pillow, Mac decided not to voice his fears about Anna's cut.

He'd waited until tomorrow, when he could get a moment alone with Dennis. He didn't want to scare Anna or Jeremiah further. He closed his eyes. Images of the day's events swirled in his head, but eventually sleep overtook him. Part three. Hours later, Mac awoked with strange rustling sound. It took him a moment to remember where he was and why. Then, recalling his anxiety from the previous night, he rolled over and looked toward Anna's pile of blankets.

He gasped. Anna was gone. Mack sat bolt upright and threw off his blankets. All traces of sleep had disappeared from him instantly, replaced by a rush of panic. Where could she have gone? Maybe she just needed some time to herself, he thought, but the idea rang hollow in his head. His creeping doubts from the night before returned. Anna had been wounded by a zombie.

Was she infected? Was she already one of them? What should he do? What could he do? I have to find her, he said to himself. But did he have to go alone? Mac thought for a minute. He definitely didn't want to bring along Jeremiah into harm's way,

but he also knew that he and Dennis shouldn't leave the young boy all by himself. Mac gritted his teeth, clenched his fist as if to prove he could use it, and let out a sigh. It was now or never. Thumbled around for the tiny keychain flashlight that they grabbed at the gas station. He wished desperately that he had something big. The light of the tiny beam barely reached his own feet when he pointed it down at them. Kneeling, he swung the flashlight across the dirt around Anna's blankets and finally saw the

footprints that she'd left in the soft ground. The footprints looked strangely uneven, and he felt his stomach drop when he realized that she must have been dragging her injured leg heavily to make such long, deep marks. He wondered if she was as scared as he was. He began to wonder if people stopped being scared once they turned into zombies, then shook himself and stood up. If there was any chance that he could still help Anna, he needed to move fast. Walking parallel to the footprints, Max set off into the woods. Took one last look back at the pile of blankets where Dennis and Jeremiah were still asleep,

trying to will them not to notice his absence. He crept along slowly as the trees grew thicker around him. He moved slowly to avoid making noise, but thoughts screeched through his head at dizzying speeds. He tried to convince himself that it might not be too late. Maybe Anna was fine. He worked as some in his earlier hope, that she'd just gone for a walk.

They'd seem less and less likely. What would he do when he found her? If worse had come to worse, then Anna would have become a zombie? Would he be able to bring himself to fight her? Even scarier, did he have any chance of winning? As he walked, Mac began to be able to be able to be able to fight her. As he walked, Mac began to fight her.

to hear the faint sound of running water in the distance. He realised that he must be nearing a stream or a creek. He followed the noise and was soon able to make out a soft glow, moonlight reflecting on the water. He drew in his breath when the beam of his flashlight passed over what he instantly knew was a human, or zombie-shaped figure. Max stood as still as he could, trying to decide what to do.

The figure was bent over and seemed to be looking down, unaware of his presence. Mack paused. If the figure was Anna, he didn't want to startle her. But if it was a zombie or worse, her zombie-fight Anna, he didn't want to get within arm's reach. He checked his shoelaces to make sure they were tied, and braced himself to run away if necessary.

He called softly. Dennis awoke with the start. Took him a moment to figure out where he was and why he was sleeping on a pile of dirty taps. "'I should have stayed asleep,' he mumbled to himself, "'as the grim details of the previous day came back to him. "'I thought about trying for some more rest, "'but his stomach objected with a loud growl.

"'And they've been too exhausted to eat before bed, "'and now he was starving. "'He shook Jeremiah gently. "'Could use the boy's help to get a fire going. "'Germia only muttered and rolled over. "'Maybe Mac would be more cooperative. "'The hunger in his stomach turned, turned into cold fear then.

Mack's blankets were empty and he was nowhere to be seen. Anna was gone too. He knew that Mack wouldn't have left without telling him unless something was seriously wrong. Jeremiah, he hissed. You have to get up now. Something's wrong. The boy sat up and rubbed his eyes, hair sticking out in all directions. What is it? he asked in confusion.

Mac and Anna, Dennis replied. they were gone. Jeremiah blinked. Maybe they went for a walk, he suggested hopefully. Dennis shook his head. He didn't want to alarm Jeremiah, but there was no time for false hope. He considered the possibilities.

The zombies got into Mac and Anna while they were sleeping. He doubted it. Zombies weren't known for their stealth. He'd definitely have woken up to their loud groans and heavy, clumsy footsteps. and that meant that Mac and Anna must have left if their own will. But why? He shook his head again.

At this point all that mattered was finding their friends. Let's go, he told Jeremiah, pointing to the truck. Sensing his urgency, the boy cooperated without further protest. He gathered an armful of blankets and secured them to the bed of the truck with the rady old rope that had held the bundle together. Dennis paused. Which direction should they go? As Jeremiah hopped into the truck's passenger seat,

Dennis strode over to collect the blankets that Mack and Anna had slept in. There was no point in abandoning their few supplies. As he bent to gather them up, he spotted the imprint of a shoe in the dirt. They attract. Just one pair of footprints at first, starting from Mack's blankets, and then another starting from Anna's. Dennis frowned.

where they joined up the two sets of footprints were strangely close together, too close for two people to have been walking next to each other at the same time. One of them must have left the camp first, then the other followed later. But why? Brow furrowed, Dennis hurried to the truck. He remembered how worried Mack had been the night before, even after they'd used the hand sanitizer to clean Anna's wound. He hadn't seemed to share Dennis's relief that the sanitizer would kill any

germs that might cause an infection. Infection. That word rang in Dennis's head. Of course, Anna had been injured by a zombie. Wasn't that how the plague spread? Was she a zombie now? If so, could she... Would she infect Mac too?

Dennis leapt into the driver's seat and peered out, tires whirring against the soft dirt. He steered the truck along the path of footprints as quickly as he could. amid the thickening trees. The bumpy ground jolted the old truck around, and Jeremiah squilled as a particularly nasty bump lifted him straight off his seats and practically out of the window. Buckle up, Dennis ordered.

This ride may get even bumpy. As they progressed, Dennis felt breathless, a combination of the truck's jostling and his own rising panic. They had no weapons, no way to defend themselves. He ran through a mental list of the items they grabbed, from the gas station, but none of them would help. Out of habit, he punched on the radio, then remembered that it would just produce static.

P.D. Muskrat Coltrane's bluegrass station and all the others had ceased broadcasting weeks ago as the plague intensified. Turning his full attention to the path ahead, Dennis focused his gaze and breaks slightly. Head into their left, he can make out a stream flowing through the trees in the distance. He squinted.

something was moving next to the water. Those people? They were. It was Mac and Anna. Dennis and Jeremiah stared in horror. Anna had a hand firmly around Mack's throat. What's she doing? Jeremiah squeaked in fearful confusion.

Her wound, Dennis gasped. She must be infected. As he spoke, something strange happened. Anna's left hand reached up and gripped her right arm by the wrist, wrenching it away from Mack's neck. Mac retreated hastily, maneuvering so that a bolder stood between himself and Anna. But he seemed unhurt. What in the world was going on?

Denny stomped on the gas, launching the truck forward. Hearing the noise, Mac and Anna looked up. Relief flooded Mack's face, but Anna just seemed scared. Dennis pulled up a short distance away and hopped out, strains of bluegrass still trickling from the now-functioning radio. Hey, unbuckle yourself, Dennis told Jeremiah. He was reluctant to put the boy in harm's way, but they'd be safer together if they needed to fight or flee Anna.

Stay near the truck, but be ready for anything. Jeremiah nodded bravely, making Dennis proud and a little sad. They'd all had to grow up quickly to survive this zombie, plague. Only a few weeks ago he, Mac and the other workers had been sitting happily around the table in the Grierson's kitchen, listening to Pedy Coltrane and playing poker with hardly a care in the world. And now? Now one of his friends was trying to strangle another. Mack, Dennis yelled, sprinting toward them. Are you okay? Maybe it was his imagination, or the rising sun's reflection. We thought Anna's eyes held a glint of red.

She didn't look hostile, though, just shaken and confused. Yeah, great time, Dennis, Mac said, keeping a wary eye on Anna. We might have a slight problem. He gestured toward Anna, whose frightened gaze was back on her hand. Anna, you okay? Dennis asked her. What happened? I think...

Anna's voice trembled. I think I'm turning into one of the same. of them. Dennis and Mack exchanged a glance. Neither needed to ask what them meant. They looked at her bandaged right shin and noticed angry purple streaks creeping upward from it. It started with my leg, she continued. It was tingling all night. Then it began pulling me. Your leg pulled you, Dennis asked, his stomach tight with fear. Anna nodded. My arm started feeling. My arm started feeling funny too, almost like it was asleep, but also like something else was controlling it. Her right arm twitched violently when she spoke as if to prove her point. Mack felt desperate.

It seemed evident that Anna was infected and slowly turning into a zombie, one who wished them harm. She was also still Anna, and Anna was their friend. How could they help her? How much time do they have? Dennis's troubled face suggested that he shared these conflicted thoughts. thoughts. Don't worry, Jeremiah piped up suddenly. We'll find a way to help you. The others look surprised but appreciative of his clear determination. Thank you, she replied.

Her eyes now clear. I promise I'll try not to, you know. She regarded her rogue arm fearfully. Right, let's start driving, Dennis said. If we can find more survivors, they might know what to do. "'We've made a lot of noise. "'It's probably not safe to stay here any longer.' "'It started toward the truck.

"'As Mac passed Anna, her right hand leapt out and grabbed his shirt. "'He yelped, yanking himself free. "'I'm sorry,' Anna said, horrified. "'She grasped her right wrists with her left arm "'and stared down at her right leg, "'which was kicking out toward Mac. "'Dennis gripped her gently by the shoulders. "'I'm not to be rude,' he said.

"'But maybe you should ride in the back, Anna.' She nodded mutely and climbed into the truck bed. Jeremiah arranged the taps in a makeshift seat. Mack hated isolating her, but he worried about her rebellious limbs interfering with Dennis' driving. Jeremiah squeezed her hand before hopping into the truck. "'Everyone buckled?' Dennis asked after Mack hopped in.

"'This could get bumpy.' He threw the truck into gear and they rumbled back, toward the highway. He felt the impulse to speed away, not wanting to jostle Anna. Dennis suspected Mac was casting his brain around for solutions as wildly as Dennis was, and without success. Uncomfortable in the silence, Jeremiah turned the radio back up, P.D. Coltrane's lively bluegrass rushed in.

Mack's head snapped up. Hey, um, since when is the radio working? Dennis shrugged. He'd forgotten about it. I'm not sure. I turned it on out of habit when we left this morning. Bluegrass was playing. Why? We have to go there, Mack interrupted. Don't you see? When Dennis looked blankly, he continued excitedly. If Coltrane's playing music, that means he survived.

If he's taking the time to spin bluegrass, his life must not be in danger, right? Maybe he can help. Dennis wasn't sure PD Coltrane could help them, or Anna, but felt relieved to have a clear destination. Mack was already pouring over the maps that had resided in the glove compartment. Okay, co-pilot, Dennis said. Just tell me which way. His words were drowned out by a violent thump on the rear windshield. The boy's heads whipped around, but Dennis quickly turned his eyes back to the road.

Why was that? Mack looked sick. It's Anna, he replied. Well, Anna's leg. Another thump shook the rear window, so forceful that Dennis felt the impact through his headrest. Anna had twisted herself around in the truck bed and was pounding the thick heel of her right hiking boot into the glass.

Or other, Mac suspected Anna had lost control and the zombie was taking over. We're going the right way. Mac jabbed triumphantly at the map. I recognize his stretch of highway from when we left the Grierson's ranch. The radio station's only 30 miles ahead. 30 miles didn't sound like much, but Dennis felt as though he was barely inching along.

He was tempted to slam the gas to dislodge Zambiana, but he knew their friend was still inside. He couldn't do it. Dennis drove the heel kept coming down, its rhythm and ominous contrast to the bright bluegrass. still playing. Glass was strong, but, well, how long could it hold? The answer to that came quickly. Dennis gritted his teeth at the unmistakable noise of shattering glass. Cold air whooshed against his neck as the rear windshield gave way. Anna's leg, now a hideous purple,

kicked through the remaining glass and her boots motion continued directly into the back of Dennis's skull. Dennis felt his head zoomed toward the steering wheel, and then everything went black. When Dennis's eyes reopened, Mac was gripping the wheel and yelling his name. Like a grotesque puppet master, Anna's leg wriggled into the cab, pulling the rest of her along with it. With a final heave, Anna landed squarely on the seat next to Dennis, her eyes again glowing red. Head throbbing, he braced for a blow, but none can't. name. Anna, it's okay, said Jeremiah, his voice shaking. We're your friends, we want to help. She didn't respond, but she didn't lash out either. They sat in tense stillness while the

bluegrass played insistently on, a reminder of the radio station they were headed to, and the station DJ they hoped was somehow still alive and safe. And Anna's right arm swung forward, whacking the radio console. She struck it again. but her clumsy movements only nudge the volume louder. I guess zombies don't like bluegrass, Mack joked weakly. Anna's left arm shot out and grabbed the right. She wrenched it away from the radio and clutched it to her chest shaking. Jeremiah peaked out from behind his hands.

Anna, can you hear us? Are you a zombie? he asked tentatively. Miraculously, she seemed to be regaining control. don't know. The voice was low and raspy, as though unused for days. Mack reached to turn off the radio so they could hear her better, but she protested. Leave it, please. Somehow the music helps.

You're still Anna, said Jeremiah decisively. I can tell. Keep the music on, she likes it, he told Mac firmly. Mac wasn't sure, but he thought the red in her eyes was clearing. Before they could ask any questions, Dennis yelled. Hey, we're here. Giddy with relief, he swung the truck into the station's large parking lot. It was strewn with debris, and he had to park at the very entrance.

The only other recognizable object around was an old truck, even more beat up than theirs. Dennis hoped desperately that it was Pedes. What if it's a trap? whispered Dennis. I'm not sure. we have any alternatives, Mack replied, eyeing Anna wearily, but let's stay quiet. Dennis pulled the keys from the ignition, and the group clambered out. Mack saw Anna's right limbs twitching, moved as quickly and quietly as they could, peering nervously at the dark woods surrounding the lock. Suddenly, Anna's rogue leg kicked out and sent an empty can clattering

across the concrete, deafening in the silence. They froze. For a moment nothing seemed to happen. Then Mac noticed the debris around them stirring as if blown by distant wind. What the! He started, but Dennis pointed wordlessly. Matt gasped. From every direction figures were emerging from the woods.

The sea of zombies was closing in, slowly but steadily. They had nowhere to run. Mac picked up a long slat of wood, and Dennis grabbed a dented garbage canlis. Neither had much faith in their makeshift weapons. Symbiosis by Alice B. Sullivan. Part 1 The alarm wailed, flashing white lights accompanied the near deafening sound. Dr. Philip Shirley shuffled through the papers sprawled on the tabletop.

He scanned the data piece by piece over and over again, searching for the answer to his mistake. None of his research implied things would go so wrong. He was supposed to reimagine modern medicine. Instead of changing the world, he'd ruined everything. Phil? Philip's wife, Brenda, placed her hand on his shoulder. It's time to go. Her words were calm and close to Philip's ear.

Philip froze, clutching a sheet of paper to where the words formed an unreadable mass, frustration leaking from him by the sight of his trembling hands. He wasn't angry with his wife, he was angry with himself. But he couldn't leave, not yet. Leaving meant quitting, and quitting meant finality. Philip staked his entire career on nothing ever being final. Mistakes were never anything but hiccups, errors that slip past eye, after eyes. He was a reputable parasitologist. He'd gone through so much to reach this point in his

life. This was surely an error he could locate and fix. He just needed time. But time had never been a friend. When Brenda spoke up, her nerves seemingly unpertur by the chaos ensuing around them, Philip felt the weight he'd been so desperately avoiding start to crush him. Everything became real. his mistakes couldn't be fixed. Why didn't he predict the mutation? How could he be so stupid? It was elementary. It was careless.

It would cost many people their lives. Brenda squeezed Philip's shoulder. Let's go, she said. Philip's body relaxed at her touch. It always did. It always would. When the alarm sounded, Philip had checked his phone to see where it was triggered.

The facility's security application read histology, room 240, second floor, opposite side of the building, though the reason for the trigger was unknown. The security application wasn't designed to relay why, its only purpose was to tell you where. Philip figured it was tied to the riots and protests going on across the state,

ever since his experiment took a turn no one, especially him, and expected. A mix of peaceful and not so peaceful protesters crowded the front entrance of the facility every morning, cursing at Philip and his colleagues, even though his colleagues had nothing to do with it. It wasn't like rioters hadn't tried breaking in before. This was the fourth time within a month the alarm had gone off,

the first three from attempts at unauthorised entry. After staring at the papers in front of him, all with figures, notes, data tables and charts, Philip glanced at the picture sitting at the corner of his desk. It was him, his wife and his daughter, Jackie. It was a simple image. The three of them standing outside the facility, smiling faces, Philip's arms around Brenda,

his hand on Jackie's shoulder. But it was them, and it was real, and they were a happy, loving family. Philip did it all for his family. Jackie was diagnosed with leukemia when she was seven years old. She got weaker and sicker, and all the chemotherapy did was empty their bank account. For the time she was 11, Jackie had relapsed twice. Philip had dedicated his work to finding an alternative treatment after the first relapse when Jackie was nine.

The second relapse only reconfirmed Philip's doubt in the worldwide accepted process. Over six years of research and parasymbio was created. The biologically engineered protozoan parasites would target abnormal white blood cells and engulf them while simultaneously strengthening the normal ones. It was FDA approved and on to phase four where several hundred patients, including Jackie, would be injected with the parasites. Philip glanced between Brenda and Jackie in the photo. Jackie looks so much like her mother, from the slightly turned-up nose to the twinkle in her eyes.

and when the chemotherapy hadn't taken her hair, it was the same shade of brown. She got her freckles and fair skin from Philip, though when Brenda was pregnant, he hoped the baby would share his soft red hair. Once Jackie was born, that no longer mattered. One look, and Philip was in love. He vowed to be the best father he could be. The pitch was taken a week after Jackie's first injection. Sixteen years old, and she could finally have the childhood she deserved.

All of that work disappeared over the span of a mutation. It was all for nothing. Philip closed his eyes, trying to hold onto the image of his beloved daughter. It wasn't for nothing. It was all for her. She was healthy. She was happy. He'd start what would have killed her. Although Philip couldn't help but wonder. What if it had been her instead of Bobby?

Bobby Welding, ten years old. bedridden, diagnosed with fatal leukemia several months prior, was one of several hundred patients injected during Phase 4. Having reminded Philip of his daughter's struggle, he injected Bobby personally. Philip looked Bobby in the eyes and told him, promised him, everything will be okay now. It would never be okay again. At the second week Bobby could walk, albeit with frequent breaks as his muscles regimens. gained their strength. Bobby was unrecognizable by week four, the biggest, happiest grin, trying out for the soccer team, hardly ever becoming tired. It was an amazing sight.

It wasn't until week seven that everything fell apart. Bobby became catatonic. He was rushed to hospital where, upon examination, it was found that Bobby's parasites had mutated during their replication phase. Eight hours later, still hooked. hooked up to wires connected to machines monitoring his vitals, Bobby woke up, but it wasn't Bobby anymore. The mutated organisms fused with the original organisms to form what scientists referred to as autocrat parasites.

Bobby's once friendly symbionts, the very things that made it so Bobby could at last enjoy his childhood, seized his central nervous system, turning him into nothing more than a shell of his former soul. a means of spreading the parasites. That night, what used to be little Bobby Welding, attacked his parents and a nurse before other nurses could restrain him.

Parasimbo shut down. Corporations worked on ways to rid people's bodies of the very thing Philip spent years creating. What if it had been Jackie instead of Bobby? Philip shook the thought away, his mind desperately clinging to the image of his daughter. happy and healthy, rather than the what-if image of her attacking others, having to be sedated, to be locked up for everyone else's safety, like Bobby.

When he was sure Jackie's image wouldn't fade, Philip nodded. Brenda was right. It was time to go. They should have evacuated the building already, but Philip refused to leave his research. He spent so much of his career researching and creating these organisms. Maybe there was no way he could fix his. mistake but he couldn't leave his work behind even if it seemed like it had no place in the world anymore Philip turned to face his wife and the first judge of his crimes her age shone with subtle

creases at the corners of her eyes and shallow wrinkles at the middle of her forehead telling from the tank top under her jacket and the dirt marks on her car keys her team must have been working in the field her hair probably started as a neat bun on route to her assignment loose strands now dangled in her face. It wouldn't be the work of a geologist if it wasn't a little messy. However, despite the dry sweat, the newly formed sunburner and the dirt on her face, she was beautiful. Philip expected disappointment, even contempt.

When he was met with soft, understanding eyes and a gentle smile, he remembered what his guilt tried so hard to cloud. Brenda would never offer the cruel judgment he thought he deserved. She knew he didn't do it on purpose. His research suggested a symbiotic relationship where the host would house the parasites and in return, the parasites would do what they were engineered to do, suppress the cancer.

Dr. Philip Shirley only ever wanted to help people. He only ever wanted to heal his daughter. Brenda knew that. How could he ever think she'd judge him? You're my rock, Brenda, Philip said. Brenda smiled, the contrast to Philip's frown. And you're mine, she replied. She took his free hand and led them out of the lab, down the hall,

Philip's still holding a mess of papers to his chest. Philip's lab was on the third floor. Following proper protocol during an evacuation, elevators were off limits, leaving stairwells as the only routes to the ground floor. Once outside, Philip would face protesters who mercilessly blamed him for the chaos erupting throughout the state of California. They throw garbage, curse his name, and chant for his resignation, even his death. When Philip first started this experiment, he never imagined it would end like this.

Part 2. The halls were empty. The last person Philip saw was a female intern leaving a neighbouring lab, heading toward the stairwell not long after the alarm first sounded. Philip hadn't seen anyone since. "'When we get outside, Phil,' Brenda began. "'Whatever's out there, remember not to feed the trolls.' The lulls in the alarm allowed minimal conversation,

the brief silence peaceful, until the alarm wailed again. Philip looked at Brenda, catching a glimpse of her sly glance following the joke. He smiled. The joke reminded him of Jackie, the sole motivation for this project. It was the advice he expected her to take when dealing with bullies, people who didn't want to understand her condition. Then again, it's always easier to tell others how to handle things. Philip wondered if he could ever apply his advice to his life. He wasn't dealing with children bullying him because they didn't like his shoes or thought he was a nerd for wearing glasses.

No, he was dealing with adults, some of whom were other reputable scientists, judging him for not a simple error in his research, but for an unpredictable phenomenon. Philip's mistake cost a little boy his consciousness, and his parents' trust in medical discovery. It was Philip's fault the state of California was in an uproar. Hundreds of residents were infected with the things that turned Bobby Welding into a maniac, and people were terrified it would happen again. Philip and Brenda turned right when they hit a T-junction. As it continued down the hall, Philip spotted a piece of paper on the floor. One became two, which became a stream, until they travelled over a pile. He peered down the corridor, raising an eyebrow at the line of wide-open doors. Even the alarm,

having masked every sound, left a cold, paralysing stillness that prickled Philip's nerves. He turned to his wife, ready to discuss this peculiar observation. Brenda wasn't beside him. Twisting around, Philip was met with Brenda's pale, horrified expression. Confused fear struck him. His eyes followed her fixed gaze. He dropped his research to the floor. Good God! Blood trailed across the long rectangular windows, framing the entrance to the third-floor botany lab.

Beyond those windows, a ravaged workspace of turned over tables and tossed chairs broken glass and fallen file cabinets paper littered everywhere and blood there was so much blood brenda wrapped her arm under phillips she might have said something she could have said anything all philip could hear was the alarm all he could see was the destruction in front of him all he could feel was the panic creeping into his chest beating his heart against his ribs philip looked down the hall the way they'd come then directed his gaze the way they were going. Nothing indicated anyone was still around, but they couldn't just stand there gawking. They needed to move. Philip began to walk, unintentionally pulling his wife along with him.

He reached into his lab coat pocket to retrieve his cell phone. With each passing moment, the real cause for the alarm became apparent, and Philip could hardly stomach it. Where are we going? Brenda shouted. Philip strode down the hall, fiddling with his phone, inwardly trying to discredit his horrible assumption. The blood-stained walls didn't help.

Same as before, he shouted back, only faster. The phone wouldn't turn on. He stuffed it back into his pocket, waiting for a drop in the alarm to say, Let me see your phone. Brenda pulled her phone out and handed it to Philip. What's going on? Philip said nothing, admitting. he had no idea what was happening would make his powerlessness feel too real.

He had to focus on getting help and getting out. He dialed 911 and brought the phone to his ear. A high-pitched beep answered. All dispatchers are busy handling other emergency calls at this time. Please do not hang up. Philip hung up and redialed. The automated message replayed. Philip hung up again, cursing under his breath,

discarding the phone in his coat pocket. The alarm should have notified the authorities immediately. This should have been handled, and yet the alarm was still screaming, and it seemed as if Philip and Brenda were the only people around. Philip guided Brenda past lab after lab. The carnage followed, and Philip's assumption rang truer. Folders and loose papers strewn the floor.

Handprints stamped the walls in blood. trails of red led through doorways to the rooms beyond i stared in horror but neither investigated the implication was enough for the both of them as they approached the third floor pathology lab the last room before the stairwell philip stopped at a puddle of something in the middle of the hall it was a mixture of brown and red and it smelled awful brenda stepped out from behind philip slapping a hand over a nose and mouth At a drop in the alarm, like a carrying whisper, Philip heard a groan. He shot a look at the pathology lab's door. It was ajar. Did you hear that? Philip turned his ear to the door. I think someone's in there. He reached for the doorknob, only for Brenda to yank him back.

Brenda shook her head, her eyes wide, her face pale. Philip gave her a wounded look, stealing glimpses at the pathology lab. There's someone in there, he said, barely audible over the alarm. Regardless of if Brenda Ashley heard him, or if it was just a coincidence, she shouted, The alarm's playing tricks on you. She tugged his arm then. We need to leave. If Philip was right, and it appeared he was, then a biohazard was loose within the facility.

He couldn't walk away knowing someone needed help. We can't leave them. He pulled himself free and went for the door, sliding it through the opening, disappearing into the room. The flashing white lights slash through the darkness, the guttural cry of the alarm, begging something to sneak up behind you.

Philip fumbled for the light switch. The ceiling bulbs flickered on, illuminating a seemingly empty lab. other than a computer chair pushed too far from its desk and a few pieces of paper on the floor. The room was tidy, or as tidy as a research lab can be. There were slides and cultures at stations. Even a pair of glasses had been left sitting next to one of the microscopes. Hello, Philip called out.

Is anyone there? A headache formed behind his eyes. It was faint, but it was there. He was growing tired of having to compete. with the alarm. The authority should have arrived a long time ago. The alarm had been on for well over an hour. If the authorities arrived, they would have shut the alarm off.

Why hadn't they come? Philip hated pondering what-if scenarios, those science-birth discoveries based on such things. His mind wasn't buzzing with ideas. It buzzed with fear and worry, and those what-ifs weren't making discoveries. They created nightmarish scenarios. involving every horror movie trope Philip had ever seen.

With every bit of strength, he pushed the obscene thoughts away, walking deeper into the lab, past abandoned research and data, past equipment left in the middle of use. Nothing indicated anyone was still around. Maybe Brenda was right. Maybe the alarm was playing tricks on him. Nobody was there, and Philip was wasting time. As Philip turned, ready to leave, there was another growth.

It was louder, clearer, closer. Philip whipped back around, continuing his search, his eyes scanning the lab. He halted at the sight of a foot sticking out from behind a desk. The foot flinched. Hello? Philip called out. The foot retracted, and the person rose. The man stood with a slight hunch in his back.

His eyes glazed, his jaw slacked. His short gray hair was wild and his skin was pale. Dr. Stanley Pierce, senior pathologist, he and Philip had worked together for years. The tearing Stanley's coat sleeve caught Philip's eye. The material was drenched in red. Stanley? Philip's eyes darted between the wound and Stanley's face. Stanley, are you okay?

Stanley wobbled before finding some sort of balance. He said nothing, staring at Philip with a dazed expression as he stumbled drunkenly around the desk. A chill straightened Philip's spine, a chill that demanded he turn and run. His racing heart and trembling knees agreed. Stanley, Philip's voice quivered. Please talk to me. Stanley stopped at the front of the table. When he went to speak, he doubled over, wrapping his arms around himself.

Vomit poured from his mouth. He reched and reched the viscous liquid splattering on the linoleum. Philip stepped back, as he watched his colleague vomit. An awful thought bled into his mind, threatening to rise the more he forced it away. There was a biohazard loose in the facility. There was no doubt about it. But its origin. Philip shook the absurd thought away.

It was impossible. Stanley adjusted himself, his movement slow and crooked, until his gaze settled on Philip. His eyes were no longer glazed, but fixed now with an intense focus. The air in the room thickened. Philip's heart beat faster, his knees threatening to give way at any moment.

His intuition burned with a single command. "'Run!' Philip put up his hands in surrender as he slowly backed away. Stanley matched those steps, going forward, rolling his shoulders, cocking his head from side to side. "'Stanley,' Philip said. "'Whatever's going on, you don't—' Philip smacked into the corner of a table. He hissed, grasping at his hip. Stanley kept coming, unfazed by Philip's words, more interested in his movements. He cornered Philip against the table, towering over him.

Philip trembled in fear as his colleague's bloodshot eyes picked him apart. He could smell the vomit on Stanley's breath, the acidic aroma churning his gut. Stanley licked his lips, then opened his mouth. His tongue glided across his upper teeth, saliva dribbling down his chin. As Philip thought the urge to yell, that awful thought sank deeper, rooting itself until it was the only possible answer. It didn't make any sense, and Philip prayed he was wrong. Hey!

Brenda's voice was half horror, half confused, but it cut through the alarm loud enough that Stanley shot her a look. He growled a gargled noise that made Philip's skin crawl. Taking the opportunity with haste, Philip drove his knee between Stanley's thighs. The pathologist howled, and when he stumbled back, Philip maneuvered around the table and fled. He grabbed his wife's hand, yanking her along. Brenda slammed the door behind them.

The pair hurried to the stairwell. Brenda shouted for Philip to tell her what had happened, but Philip didn't answer. What he inferred wasn't sensical, was it? No, it couldn't be, but yet? Dr. Stanley Pierce's symptoms were comparable to Bobby's symptoms. strange behaviour, unresponsive, hyperfixation, burst blood vessels in the sclera, vomiting. There was no denying it.

It was unmistakable, and it hardened Philip's stomach like a rock. He didn't know how, but what happened to Bobby was now happening to his colleagues. Part three. The light in the stairwell flickered offbeat, with the already flashing lights. the piercing sound of the alarm sharper in the confined space. Philip gripped Brenda's hand, pulling her as he rushed down the many flights of stairs to what he hoped was safety.

He hadn't stopped moving since his sickening confrontation with Dr. Stanley Pierce, or at least what used to be Dr. Stanley Pierce. Calling whatever that thing was, Stanley seemed wrong. It had never be Stanley again. Somehow the bioengineered parasites had weaseled their way into Stanley's central nerve, system, leaving behind nothing but a puppet to do their bidding, like Bobby Welding.

With everything Philip had seen, a horrific question came to light. How many more of his colleagues were infected? Brenda yanked Philip back. Philip, answer me. Philip stumbled, then stared at Brenda, dumbfounded. She furrowed her brow, saying, what was that? Her words reverberated off the walls in time with a lull in the alarm. Philip swallowed hard, glancing up and down the stairwell, anxiousness creeping into his nerves. Brenda, we have to keep moving. Brenda's brooding eyes pleaded to Philip. She slowly shook her head.

Clenching a fist, Philip worried his bottom lip between his teeth, stepping closer to his wife. He was foolish to think he could keep her from it for long. He thought they'd escape first. At least then they'd have time. He squeezed her hand, shame keeping his eyes from meeting hers. My experiment, he said as the alarm dropped, and then wailed not a second later. I don't know how, but Stanley, the parasites, they're inside him. Brenda said nothing, forcing Philip to look at her.

Her mouth was a thin line, her gaze miles away. How do you know? Shaking his head, Philip said. We don't have time for this. We can't... We need to go. Brenda blinked, her expression hard as stone. We need to call Jackie.

Philip straightened. He scrutinized the soft creases of Brenda's face. She didn't seem scared anymore. She didn't seem angry. Philip couldn't tell how she felt, but it neared a frightening apathy, as if she accepted a fate not yet sealed. Philip pulled out Brenda's cell phone and stared at it.

Jackie was with her friends at the mall. He knew she'd pick up, but was it fair? She wouldn't be able to help them, telling her would only worry her. It wouldn't be fair. Brenda cuted Philip's hand in hers. They made eye contact, Philip's eyes trembling with uncertainty.

Brenda's still with intent. She took the phone and dialed a number, then brought the device to her ear. Philip counted a ten before she spoke. Jackie? She stuck a finger in her free ear. No, no, no, everything's okay. It's just...

Her gaze met Phillips. A lie she would tell burned his tongue. It was a rioter, she said. Yeah, yeah, your father's okay. Now, Jackie, Jackie, listen. We might be late coming home tonight. Brenda struggled to smile. Of course, yeah.

You can stay at Mals. Yeah. We love you too, Jackie. She paused. A tear glistened in her eye. We love you so, so much. The moment lingered before she hung up, and she handed the phone to Philip. Philip's chest ached. He yearned for his daughter. He knew Brenda wouldn't tell Jackie the truth. The truth wasn't what Jackie needed. Brenda nodded, a small smile appearing on her lips. Philip couldn't help but frown He loved her

He fell in love with her more and more every day How could she still love him His mistakes were unforgivable Yet Brendan never blamed him She stayed with him Stood by him She was everything he could ever ask for And more

And her life was in danger because of him He'd spent years saving his daughter His wife spent years supporting him Even when everything fell to pieces Brenda saved him. His grip tightened on the phone. Brenda might have accepted a fate not yet sealed, but Philip refused to.

Stuffing the phone back into his pocket, Philip took Brenda's hand and continued leading her down the stairs. Stepping on to the final platform, Philip threw himself around the railing, ready to charge of the last set. He halted so suddenly, Brenda stumbled into him. Blood marked the shape of a handprint on the exit door. At the bottom of the staircase, a body sat slumped against the wall.

The woman wasn't moving. Red coated her hands. Brown stayed in the chest of her white blouse. Her head lay limp, bloodied blonde hair like a veil over her face. Philip turned around, pushing Brenda back the way they came. Brenda refused Philip's advances, spying the door. Philip! Philip twisted around as the woman wobbled to her feet.

He recognised her. The intern he saw when the alarm first sounded. Her arms hung without posture. Her spine stood crooked. Philip scrambled to push Brenda back, shouting, Go! The woman perked up, her hair peeling away from her face. Philip caught a glimpse of the former intern's clamped jaw and wide eyes

before the staircase obscured his view. Remorse choked him. She was hired a month ago, unpaid. He didn't even know her name. When they rounded the second-floor platform, Philip snagged Brenda's arm, yanking her to a stop. They couldn't go back to the third floor. Whatever was left of Dr. Stanley Pierce was still there,

and Philip had no intention of reuniting. He eyed the second-floor door. It was clean, displaced among the carnage they'd witnessed thus far. The sound of the intern struggling to climb the stairs, echoed through the well. Philip reached for the door's handle, hesitation shaking his grip. He opened the door and peered down the hall.

A clear path sent relief pouring through his veins. He gestured at Brenda to follow, and the two ventured into territory once friendly, but now unknown. They passed walls smeared with red. They passed puddles of vomit. They passed empty labs left in ruin. Every step demanded Philip to,

and run, to lock himself and his wife in a room and wait. Only he didn't know who or what they'd wait for. As they neared halfway down the hall, Philip picked up his pace, closing in on their destination. A woman in a white lab coat shuffled from a room, into the hall, her movement stilted. Philip stopped, thrusting his arms behind himself to catch Brenda. Dr. Lynn Wong, lead chemist in the facility's pharmaceutical departments. She was turned the opposite way and hadn't noticed Philip or Brenda. Philip stared after his parasite-ridden colleague

as she headed the way he and Brenda desperately needed to go. Before he could come up with a plan, he felt a tug on his coat sleeve. He turned, sucking in a breath at Brenda's gape mouth, wide eyes and pointing finger. His heart stopped. Bodies, dozens of them, sat against the walls of a bicephabre, of a bisecting hall. Their heads bowed, their limbs limp. None of them flinched. Blood and vomit trailed the floors. Philip didn't dare move until Brenda's nails dug into his arm. He redirected his gaze to

Lynn, who was still none the wiser to their presence. An idea sparked. It was dangerous. It was stupid. It was the only thing he could do. Turning to his wife, he put a finger to his mouth, then flicked his head in Lin's direction. Facing one was easier than facing dozens. They locked hands and tiptoed out of the T-junction toward the former chemist. Closing in on Lynn, Philip jerked himself from Brenda's grasp and sped up,

gaining a distance from his wife, gaining momentum for what he needed to do. He launched himself at Lynn and they crashed to the floor. Pushing himself up, Philip groaned in pain. He spotted a heart. horrified Brenda as the consequences of his action struck him. He froze. Lynn twitched.

Slapping his hand around Lynn's wrists, Philip shifted his weight to hold her down. Go, he shouted to Brenda. Lynn struggled for freedom, writhing, flailing her legs. Now! Brenda winced, hesitating before she fled. Lynn shrieked, the height of the sound lost within the alarm. She thrashed and kicked and squirmed.

Philip tightened his grip, forcing more of his weight, keeping Lynn as tamed as he could. He watched his wife flee, waiting, counting. Brenda was now over fifty feet away. It was now or never. In one fluid motion, Philip pushed himself off Lynn and darted after Brenda. He looked behind himself. Lynn attempted to stand,

and the first of the star from the bisetting hall lurched around the corner. Philip caught up to Brenda when she stopped at the stairwell's entrance. He yanked the door open and Brenda ran through. Philip watched as more people flooded the corridor from the neighbouring hall. Lynn was on her feet. Philip's stomach hardened. All these people.

They didn't deserve this. They were innocent. Philip, Brenda cried, snapping him from his spell. Come on! After a final glance at the wobbling, stumbling, stumbling stampede of bodies, Philip rushed through the doorway, ensuring the door closed behind him. His colleagues were gone. There was no time to mourn. Part four.

The crowd of former staff members met the stairwell door in a matter of seconds. They pounded their fists against the metal. They dragged their nails down the glass. The haunting sounds followed Philip and Brenda as they descended. the stairs. Two flights felt too long. Philip faced the spotless first-floor door. He had no time to wonder or hope or wish. It was another door they had to open, another floor they had to navigate. There was no telling what lay beyond. He opened it and peered down the hall. No one in sight. Ducking back, he gestured for Brenda to follow, and the two proceeded with caution. More labs, abandoned,

bloodied and destroyed, research scattered. Philip I had a puddle of fresh vomit, the pungent stench striking his nostrils, making him wince. More followed. Brown splattered on the wall, viscous liquid trailing like molasses to the floor. Philip, Brenda said, loud enough to beat the alarm. How could this have happened? Philip's throat tightened.

I don't know, he said, eyes darting between blood spatters. The only thing that makes sense is... His voice lost itself within the cry of the alarm. The only thing that made sense was someone coming into contact with the autocrat parasites through a different host. If that were true, and Philip prayed it wasn't, then what happened to Bobby, what happened to Stanley, to the intern, to Lynn?

It could happen to the rest of the state, the whole country. Millions would lose more than just their lives. They'd lose their humanity. Philip's creation should have changed the world, but not like this. The main lobby was just past the floor's T-junction. Philip sped up, wishing he could move as fast as his heart pounded. They were going to make it. After everything that had happened, after everything they'd endured,

Philip and Brenda would finally be safe. It wasn't long until his racing heart froze. Someone stepped into their path. Philip slowed and gestured for Brenda to stop. More bodies emerged, each one aimlessly walking, rolling their shoulders, craning in their necks, twitching. All of them slack-jawed with glazed eyes. Blood and vomit stained their skin and clothes. Colleagues, secretaries, security guards, interns, all lost.

Oh no, Philip and Brenda muttered in unison. "'What do we do?' she asked. Philip looked beyond the crowd. The mob of monsters wearing familiar faces wobbled and scuffed their feet, bumping shoulders unfazed. The crowd had to have been just shy of a dozen. There was no room to get through, no other way. They'd have to go back.

Philip turned around, ready to retreat, when several bodies lurched out of the lab, cutting off their course. "'Phil!' Brenda's voice hitched. Philip glanced between crowds, anxiety gloring at his chest, adrenaline pumping his heart with fear. He looked at his wife's terrified face. Didn't know what to do. His friends, his colleagues, now nothing more than hosts for his experiment. He and Brenda were trapped. They were trapped and it was all his fault.

What could they do? Brenda leaned in, body stiff eyes fixed straight. We need to do something, she said. Not churned Philip's gut. Neither group had noticed him or Brenda yet. There was no more time to waste. Safety wasn't going back the way they came. Safety wasn't shoving Brenda in a room to force her to wait for help that might never come.

Safety was 200 feet away, beyond a group of people riddled with organisms of Philip. Philip's design. He couldn't save his colleagues. Maybe he couldn't even save himself. But he could save his wife. He let Brenda's hand go. His chest tightened as he backed away, watching a terrified expression turn into horrified confusion. Sucking in a breath, he mouthed, run, before darting at the being standing between them and the exit. Hey, over here, he shouted, waving his arms. Philip, Brenda crud. The mix of staff Haunted with a jerk of their crooked bodies.

Each one slowly turned their head, their glossy eyes putting Philip in the spotlight. Come and get me, Philip taunted. I'm fresh and ready to host my own experiment. Whether they understood the words or not, he didn't know, but he knew they understood sound. Sound meant something alive, which meant a viable host. He was one thing a parasite wants,

it's to survive. The hosts moved in unison toward him, their groans carrying on the alarm. Shooting a look at Brenda, he smiled apologetically, hoping she could forgive him. Part of him knew she never would. But it had to be done. He dashed down the bisetting hall

before the look of betrayal on her face could change his mind. The bodies slumped against the walls didn't react until Philip passed them. Their movement's too slow to make him worry. his best chance was the side door at the end of the hall he just had to get there elongating his strides feeling the resistance against his lab coats he glanced over his shoulder his pursuers gave chase they're running more of a wobbly jog their arms flailing at their sides their wide and blinking eyes locked on him jaws clenched his plan had worked he cleared the path brenda would be safe

It was only fair she escaped. Philip, well, he was right where he needed to be. Halfway down the hall, there were no more bodies sitting dormant on the floor. They were standing, running, chasing. Philip neared the side door. He was almost there, almost free. He'd raced to reunite with Brenda. He'd hold her close.

He'd kiss her. The protesters outside no longer scared him. Their thoughts, their words, their actions. They couldn't break him. not anymore. He'd face them with dignity, and leave with his wife's hand in his. He and Brenda would be survivors.

Whether they'd be the only survivors, he didn't know, but he refused to think about anyone else anymore. He picked up speed, spotting the greenery of the outside through the glass, just a little further. He collided with the door. It didn't open.

He pushed the latch again, feeling the metal sink into itself, hearing the lock unhinge. Again, the door didn't open. He cursed loudly. The answer stared him in the eyes. A paper promptly taped on the glass. Please use other exit. Philip slammed his fists against the sign, cursing a problem that should have been fixed days ago. If he'd had the time, he'd probably laugh at the inconvenience that seemed so minute any other day. A regular day promising regular things. Like recent, and tests, not running for your life. The facility was gone, lost to whatever he created. A broken door latch would be the least of the authority's worries when they cleared the building,

but right now a broken door latch was all that mattered. Philip shot a look behind himself. The hosts were already halfway down the hall, slowly gaining round, their movements stilted and uncoordinated. The herd had grown, others must have crawled out of their hiding spots after hearing their friends, joining the hunt with the hope of adding another. Philip had no intention of becoming part of their collection. He entered the stairwell to his right, skipping steps as he ascended. He could circle back to the first floor using the second.

The parasites hadn't mastered motor function. The hosts were slow enough. He could make it. A few hosts caught the door. before it closed, forcing their bodies against it, pushing it open, and the rest followed. Clambering sounds echoed through the well, swallowing every bit of Philip's confidence, and he pressed on, despite his growing uncertainty. The thought of holding his wife and seeing his daughter were the only things keeping in the

adrenaline pumping through his veins. Part five. Philip lunged for the second-floor door, stopped only by the sight of someone, some thing, shuffling on the other side. He stared in shock, his hand inches from the door's handle. The bodies came and went. A hand slapped the window, pulling a woman behind it. Her breath fogged the glass. She lazily rolled her neck, scrutinizing Philip with wide bloodshot eyes. Her fist met the door, again, again, again. The hollow sounds boomed through the well. Others swarmed her like cockroaches.

Soon a mix of faces overtook the window, casting Philip in a daunting shadow. From the first floor, stumbling footsteps grew louder, nearer. There was no other choice. He had to go higher. The first of the mob was steps away from Philip as he lunged for the third floor door. His fingers barely touched the handle before he was yanked back, nearly thrown down the stairs. The menacing gaze for security guards seized.

him as he regained his balance. Philip straightened. He raised trembling hands in surrender, squinting to read the man's name tag pinned on his uniform. In a tremulous voice, he shouted, Darrell, you don't have to do this. The guard's hands twitched as he drew quick breaths.

From the look in his hemorrhaged eyes, Darrell was a man who no longer existed. No, you're not feeling well. Philip continued, "'I can help you.' This lie turned his stomach. He had no idea if he could help him. He had no knowledge of these creatures

other than the little he'd observed in the last hour. From the information gathered on Bobby Welding, vitals were higher than normal, awareness heightened, cognitive function decreased, aggression increased. Bobby was still alive. He just wasn't Bobby.

As a scientist, Philip couldn't accept categorizing a group, based on data recorded from one member. As someone fighting for his life, it was all he could do. His colleagues were alive, and they had to be. If there was any consciousness left, it was turned off. It just needed to be re-triggered. Maybe that's what Philip had to do.

If only the climbing footsteps weren't getting louder. Philip stepped forward, stealing glimpses of the door. I know something's inside you, Darrell, he said. Darrell cocked his head, like he was listening, or maybe he was mindless and appreciated the noise coming from Philip's mouth. Either way, he seemed attentive. I know it's telling you what to do, but you don't have to do it. You can resist.

Philip took another step. You have a wife, Darrell, a child. Darrell's eyes narrowed, then widened. His snarl softened to a quivering lip. Philip picked up on the cues and pushed. the boundary. They wouldn't want this, Darrell, he said. They'd want you to fight this so you can go home. They stared at each other. The alarm, the flashing lights, the echo of footsteps, all of it seemed to disappear as they locked gazes. Darrell's knees wobbled, stepping forward,

a timid, fearful look seeping into his stone expression. Tears glistened in his eyes. Every ounce of air left Philip's lungs. It was working. Darrell reached out. The urge to reciprocate struck Philip, his heart leaping from his chest. Would it set Darrell off if he didn't? With a shaky hand, Philip returned the gesture, his fingers grazing Darrell's. Darrell's shoulders went limp as he stared longingly at the small embrace. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, only to clamp his teeth shut and stumble backwards.

His face twisted in pain. He groaned, grunted, winced, doubling over, shaking his head. Darrell, Philip cried. Darrell's scream set Philip's feet like concrete. The guard hit himself in the head over and over and over and over. Mouth agape, Philip watched in horror. Darrell, stop. Daryl jolted upright.

The look of fear was gone, replaced by a hard, fixed stare. Philip extended his hand. Darrell, he said in a gentle tone, You have to fight it, you have to. Darrell's head twitched, his hands trembled. Please, Darrell, what about your family? You have to try. You have to try for the...

And Darrell leapt. Philip dodged, and the guard struck the railing. Please, Philip shouted. You don't have to do this. You don't have to listen to them. Darrell whipped around, his lip curling into a snarl. He pounced again. Philip dove out of the way, landing at the edge of the staircase.

Darrell now faced him, panting, growling. Philip stood, using the railing as a crutch. I'm begging you, he whimpered. Please. Daryl charged. Philip evaded the attack, and the guard tumbled down the stairs just as the infested mob rounded the, the platform. Philip bit his lip, listening to the groans. A twinge of sadness prickled his

eyes as he hurried out of the stairwell. He didn't look back. Darrell was the first to fling himself at the door. His snarling face only hurt Philip more. The second and third of the crowd joined Darrell. Three became five, became too many to count. The image behind the window was squirming massive limbs. Philip rubbed his forehead and sniffed, fighting back tears. It almost worked. He had Darrell. He had him. And then he was gone again. Was it worth it? He scanned the indistinguishable body parts as they pressed against the glass. The door handle jiggled. He sucked in a breath. Surely those things weren't smart enough to... He shook his head. He couldn't risk finding out. He couldn't risk finding out. He bolted down the hall, past the all too familiar bloodstains and

destruction. The stairwell burst open moments later, the echo of metal-smacking concrete, shooting nails into Philip's spine. He looked over his shoulder. They were gaining on him, their movements more precise, smooth, quick. He turned back in time to collide with someone. Philip somersaulted several times before landing still, sprawled out on the the cold linoleum floor. His ears rang and his vision spun. The former secretary stood, then twisted to bare teeth at her prey, red veins snaked across manic eyes. Philip scrambled to his feet and ran. Pumping his arms faster, he begged his muscles not to quit. But those things were too close and he was too tired. He couldn't go on. So he darted into a nearby room,

slamming and locking the door just as the former secretary reached for him. The pounding fists came soon after. It was dark, save for the flashing lights. Philip flicked the lights switch on to reveal an empty, cramped histology lab. An L-shaped island centred the room. Counters, cabinets and shelves lined the side and back walls. Microscopes sat on the island in front of each chair. Binders, folders, boxes of latex gloves, and bottles of staining,

solution riddled everywhere in between. Brown slop freckled the floor. Out of breath and drenched in sweat, Philip stripped his lab coat and threw it over a chair. He had to think. He couldn't think. His thoughts felt like static. He spun a chair around and sat down,

burying his face in his hands. Maybe those things would forget what they were doing. Maybe they'd think he was gone and wander off. Maybe if he just stayed quiet. Wherever rationalizing led him, it helped ease his racing mind. If only Brenda's mind could be eased, she had to be worried sick, terrified and distraught. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. He and Brenda had been together for 20 years, and of those 20 years, they'd been married for 15.

She was the first person he pitched this catastrophic idea to. She was the one who told him to go for it. He worked on Parasimboe for years, and Brenda only ever cheered him on. She was a wonderful woman with a wonderful heart. And she made it out. He had to believe she did for his own sanity. As he listened to the panting and grunting, lingering behind the door, he didn't know if he deserved the same mercy.

Part six. A ringtone filled the lulls in the alarm with a lively tune. Philip perked up. It took a moment for him to distinguish the song from the alarm, but when he did, he dashed from the chair, scrambling for his lab coat. He rummished through the pocket, retrieving his wife's cell phone. He'd forgotten he had it. He raised the device and stared at the unrecognised number headlining the black call screen.

A tired, desperate man stared back. A man who saved his daughter, a man who, in doing so, had created a plague, who destroyed his career and ruined so many lives. There wasn't a doubt in his mind he'd do it all again. He swiped the call button and brought the phone to his ear, plugging the other with a finger. Licking his lips, he swallowed hard, his throat like sandpaper, his tongue like chalk. Hello? he croaked. A stilted familiar voice answered. Phil, oh my God, you're alive, Render sobbed, short breaths begging for oxygen. "'Brander!'

"'Philip's heart twisted. "'She made it out! She made it out!' "'He could say it with certainty. "'His plan had worked. "'Every muscle in his body relaxed at this realization. "'I'm so relieved you're okay.' "'Phil?' "'She sounded in pain.

"'Her voice yearned for his name. "'Dear, I'm here, I'm here.' "'The word struck him as soon as they left his lips. He should have been with her, holding her, comforting her. Instead, he was locked in a room with no exit other than a door leading to the things that chased him there in the first place. Brenda continued to cry, and his chest tightened. He needed to do something. He couldn't let her lose herself.

Brenda, he whispered. He could barely hear himself over the alarm, but he knew she could hear him. She quieted, yet her breath still. came in gasps. Do you remember the first time we took Jackie to the zoo? She was silent before replying. She begged to see the lions, but the exhibit was closed.

Vaux smiled. It was small, but it was genuine. Yeah, he said. Over ten years later when she still talks about it. Still can't believe she'd try to sneak into the lionhouse when we weren't looking. What a card. He could still hear his daughter's voice.

small, growing into something strong and mature, yet still holding a childlike wonder, she told and retold the story of how her father got her private tour of the lionhouse. Brenda laughed. Yeah, a wild card. If you hadn't gotten us in there, I don't think she would have let us live it down. She knows what she wants, Philip said,

and she tries and tries until she gets it. Well, she's her father's daughter. There was distance now in Bramette. Brenda's voice. So smart. So full of ideas. Philip frowned. His eyes shaking.

My ideas are why I'm here and not with you. Brenda was quiet. Phil? The tears came back. He could hear it in her voice. He knew what she was going to say. He dreaded this moment since he let go of her hand. And he couldn't avoid it any longer.

There were always risks with the kind of work he did. he just never thought it would ever come to this. How will they do it? There was a silence, an awful heart-wrenching silence as if to punctuate Brenda's next words. They're going to blow it up. He nodded slowly as if Brenda could see the motion.

With wide eyes he saw so many cherished memories flash in front of him. Isn't Brenda's first kiss? The moment he proposed, their wedding, when they brought Jackie home from the hospital. It all sped by in a second, ending on the day of Jackie's first injection, the day she could finally enjoy life to its fullest. It wasn't death that chilled him.

It was the horror of leaving his family behind. Phil? I'm here, he squeaked, biting his lip. What do I do? Her tone became frantic, choppy with sobs. What do I tell Jackie? Taking a deep, quivering breath, Philip found his nerves and said, I regret none of it.

He wiped his eyes. Tell her I'd do it all again if it meant she could live. The incessant pounding of his former colleagues had dwindled to occasional soft thuds. They were still out there, stalking the halls, waiting for him to be naive enough to leave. He glanced at the door, and a taunting thought manifested. Maybe if he had a little more time. The idea vanished as quickly as it came. He didn't have the right to beg for time, asking was selfish.

If he had it, could he even make it? He relished the fantasy. If he escaped, he could figure out how to destroy the parasites. He could bring those people back. Nobody understood what they were. They could still be alive. There could be a way to save them. He punched the face.

floor. Griding his teeth, he cursed himself for giving into an instinct he created. Curiosity for the unknown. His desire to learn, to know, he knew it was just a convoluted attempt to right his wrong. These people were trapped inside their minds because of him, and he couldn't tell if his inclination to cure them was purely out of selflessness. He had to accept what he promised he never would. He couldn't fix this. Brenda, I'm sorry. His voice hitched. I love you.

I love you so much. I didn't mean for this to happen. You have to believe me, please. Believe me, I didn't. The words poured from his mouth. He couldn't stop them, and he didn't want to. Phil, Brenda whispered. He barely heard her over the alarm.

He cupped his mouth, stifling sobs. I never thought this was your fault. She continued, calm, sincere. You made it so our daughter could live a happy life. All you ever wanted was to help people. None of this was your fault. Tears ran down, Philip's cheeks. You've always been my rock, Brenda.

And you'll always be mine. He wiped his eyes and then cleared his throat. Will you promise me one thing? Brenda said nothing. She was probably fighting tears trying to keep a level ahead. "'un willing to break the way Philip wanted to, but couldn't. "'Nither of them could. "'Make sure Jackie never stops talking about the time Daddy showed her the lines.

"'After a long pause, she whispered, "'I will. I love you. "'And I love you.' "'Philip hung up. "'There was nothing else he could say. "'It was selfish to make Brenda continue, "'the all he wanted was to hear her voice as long as he could. He was already gone.

He couldn't make her hold on. The phone's battery blinked 10%. Philip stared longingly at the screensaver, an image of Brenda and Jackie. Jackie draped over her mother's back, both of them making goofy faces at the camera. He caressed them. They were the loves of his life,

and this was the last time he'd ever see them. He smiled as the first bomb made contact. The building trembled, jostling him, dust and pieces of dry wall fell from the ceiling. He wasn't scared. Brenda had made it out, and he was at peace knowing that. He never took his eyes off the image of his family. The alarm cut off, leaving behind a deafening silence disturbed only by the impact of the second bomb. Bart Seven.

Philip wasn't alive to witness a third explosion. Miranda would never truly know the moment her husband had died. She told herself he was gone when the first bomb hit, praying he didn't suffer, but she knew in her heart he was gone the moment he let go of her hand to lead the creatures away. Philip wouldn't want her to, but she blamed herself. She could still feel his fingers slipping through hers as he pulled away. His terrified eyes and soft, uncertain smile lingered at the front of her mind.

She painfully unwillingly wondered if he knew he'd never see his family again, but either answer was too much to bear. So instead she replayed their last conversation, desperately searching for the sound of his voice. The right sound, no fear, no sorrow. She wanted his laugh, the way his words sounded when he smiled. What he did, he did for his family. Everything was always for his family.

It was the reason she fell in love with him more and more every day. how would she tell Jackie her beloved daughter the light of her life enjoying her childhood with her friends her heart would break what could Brenda do Philip was gone

she had no choice but to move forward to face the world as it was broken as the building burned black smoke exploding into the sky she closed her eyes letting tears stream down her face she clung to the sound of philip's voice even as it threatened to fade within the bombs a chatter of people and sirens she'd fight to hold on to his voice for the rest of her life

and so once again reach the end of tonight's podcast my thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen now i'd ask one small favour of you wherever you get your podcast wrong please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.