"s.h.i.t." I looked down at Naomi's corpse, then took off after Wesley.

When I got to the steps that led to the house, Wesley was already inside. "Oh my G.o.d," he said.

The smell was the first thing that hit me. A heavy stench of sweat and human waste that had been allowed to ferment in the closed-in s.p.a.ce of this room. The second thing I noticed was the overturned table, clothes scattered on the floor and ripped to shreds, the washing machine on its side. A thin sheen of dirty water covered the floor.

Wesley was standing to my right, looking at the wall. I followed his gaze and saw what had taken him by surprise.

Drawn crudely in what appeared to be a mixture of feces and blood was a caricature of what I was now coming to know as the G.o.d of the New World. It took up the entire wall s.p.a.ce; about five feet across and seven feet high. My mind flashed back briefly to the other depictions of the creature we'd seen on our journey to Montana, to Alex saying he'd never seen any weird drawings in Manning when he and Naomi made their trip out there (and I verified this by remembering I'd seen none on our drive into town just ten minutes ago).

"Jesus," I muttered, echoing Wesley's astonishment. "How the h.e.l.l are they able to share the same...the same..."

"Image of this thing?" Wesley finished for me. "f.u.c.k if I know."

"Do you feel the presence?" I asked him. While I felt something, it didn't feel like that same sensation of being watched that we experienced as we fled California.

"No," Wesley said, still looking at the figure on the wall. "Not really." He looked at me. "But I feel something."

From outside came a howl of anguish.

The suddenness of it startled me; I saw Wesley's eyes fly open in surprise as he whirled around, rifle raised, ready to shoot. I reacted in similar fashion and what I saw outside made my stomach churn.

Primitives were swarming the perimeter of the house. At first count it looked like over a dozen. Three of them were crouched near Naomi's corpse. One idly picked up her arm and gave a hooting sound. Another one made that howl of anguish, as if in mourning.

"AAAAaaaaarooooo!" A large male primitive, of African-American descent sporting a bushy beard and naked save for a dirty T-shirt and carrying a baseball bat, pointed at us as he howled. He was standing thirty feet from us. The three crouching around Naomi looked toward us at the sound of his war cry and sprang to their feet.

Wesley and I reacted on instinct. We pointed our weapons and sprayed bullets.

Wesley's initial shots took down the three that had stopped to examine Naomi's body. I fired a volley of shots toward the group cl.u.s.tered around the large male that had given his warning cry. The male primitive somehow managed to avoid getting hit as he charged at us. He was a fast blur as I brought my rifle around to fire at him, but he was faster. He darted right under Wesley's line of fire and slammed into me, knocking me on my back into the house.

My index finger squeezed the trigger of the rifle involuntarily, sending a staccato of shots toward the ceiling. Plaster and wood rained down on me, bouncing off the primitive's back as I held him off with my left forearm. He was howling, pushing his face at me to bite. His breath was horrendous. He wasn't very tall, but he was built like a linebacker with a heavily muscled chest and arms. His hands were grasped around my wrist, trying to force it away from my throat. His knee shoved up, connecting squarely with my inner right thigh, dangerously close to my groin. Pain exploded down there, fueling my adrenalin.

I heard a thump as I fought him, straining with all my might to shove him off of me. My handgun was digging into the small of my back painfully. I heard another thump, then another rise of howling from outside. Then, I heard Wesley say, "Oh s.h.i.t."

I knew that wasn't good.

The primitive's knee hit my inner thigh again in the same exact spot, this time harder. I yelled in pain, and that blow was enough to temporarily weaken me. He shoved my arms aside and I twisted in his grasp at the last moment. His descending jaws clamped down on my shoulder and bit down hard just as I saw Wesley bring the stock of his rifle down on the back of the primitive's head.

The force of the blow was enough to not only knock the primitive out, it drove the teeth of his lower jaw through my shirt and into my shoulder. I screamed and hit him with my left fist, not even aware that he was unconscious.

"s.h.i.t, oh s.h.i.t, oh s.h.i.t!" Wesley said. I heard a staccato of gunfire, heard the dying cries of primitives. I don't know how he managed to hit so many as I was still thrashing beneath the body of the primitive that was holding me down. I was just realizing he was unconscious when I felt my rifle being jerked away from me. Panicked, I grabbed the unconscious primitive by the throat and used him as a shield, expecting another one to slam into me. Instead, I heard more gunfire and Wesley screaming, "Die you motherf.u.c.kers! Die!"

I had to help Wesley get out of this. I shoved the unconscious primitive aside, ignoring the pain in my inner right thigh and shoulder. I grabbed the rifle Wesley had dropped and immediately saw what happened and what was going on: Wesley had run out of ammo and he'd grabbed my rifle to continue the defensive. He'd managed to kill a large swath of primitives but more were emerging from the trees beyond the property. Jesus, how many of them were there?

I ejected the spent magazine, found a fresh one from the stash I had strapped to my jacket and slapped it in. I fired, missing at first, but soon taking them down like ducks at one of those carnival shooting galleries. I leapt to my feet, shooting at everything outside that moved. The primitives that had moved in from the outer perimeter were now either dead, dying, or running away.

Wesley rearmed his M4 from a series of spare magazines strapped over his shoulder and jumped off the porch. "You okay?"

"For now," I said.

Wesley took off in pursuit after the half dozen primitives that were running through the woods. I followed him.

We chased them to the end of the driveway, then stopped, placed them in our sights and tried to take them down. They kept going. One was knocked out of commission amid a cry of surprise and pain. I kept shooting at the others, but moving targets are a b.i.t.c.h to hit, as I've found out.

"s.h.i.t," Wesley said. He looked panicked. His eyes were wide with surprise and shock. "G.o.ddammit, those things heard Naomi call out to them! She's been f.u.c.king calling them the past few days and they heard her!"

"They were coming to rescue her," I said, panting from the exertion of our firefight. I was watching the remaining five primitives become small specks in the distance.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n right they were," Wesley said. He was watching the retreating primitives, too. I had the feeling that if he had a vehicle handy he'd take off in pursuit and hunt those remaining primitives down, killing them for the sheer revenge of it.

"f.u.c.k." For the first time since our skirmish erupted, I was consciously aware of my surroundings. I scoped out the area, the trees, the driveway, and the house. Several primitives were dying, some howling in pain.

"You got any more ammo?" Wesley asked me.

"Yeah."

"Let's finish these f.u.c.kers off and get out of here." Wesley headed back toward the house and shot the first wounded primitive he saw. It ceased to howl as its brains spattered the gravel driveway.

As I helped Wesley take down the remaining primitives, my injuries became readily apparent. I was wobbling on shaking legs; my right leg was weak from what was obviously a ma.s.sive charley horse on the muscle of my inner thigh; my right shoulder throbbed with agony. I could feel blood trail down my chest. I paused to check out the bite wound quickly. It looked ugly; motherf.u.c.ker had sunk his teeth in good. The wound was a crusty ma.s.s of red and was beginning to swell.

Wesley stepped up to the porch that led to the mudroom. He pointed the muzzle at the big male primitive that had bit me and fired two shots into its head. For a brief moment I was mad at Wesley for doing that. I wanted to be the one to kill that f.u.c.king thing.

Wesley turned to me. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Change of plans," Wesley said as he stepped off the porch and headed towards me. "We're getting the h.e.l.l out of here now."

And that's exactly what we did. We made it back to the jeep, alert for any sound, nervously jumping at every unexpected rustle of leaves. We climbed in and I slapped in a fresh magazine in my M4. My heart was fluttering in my chest.

"Okay?" Wesley looked at me with concern.

"Yeah."

"We gotta get that wound cleaned and dressed." Wesley rummaged in the back of the jeep and pulled out the first aid kit. He handed it to me. "You okay enough to do the honors while I get us out of here?"

"Yeah," I said, clutching the first aid kit.

"Good. Make it quick." Wesley started the jeep and swung it back onto the road.

As Wesley sped down the road in the direction we'd come, I opened the first aid kit and shrugged out of my shirt and jacket. I got my first good look at the wound. It was ugly, but while the primitive's teeth had broken the skin the cuts weren't that deep. The bleeding had stopped. I opened a bottle of peroxide, poured some in a dressing, and cleaned the wound. It stung. I gritted my teeth and washed the blood out of the wound as much as possible. Who knew what kind of disease these things carried. Of course, the first thing that crossed my mind was that old horror film standby-get bitten by a vampire, a werewolf, or a zombie, and you become one of them. Naomi obviously hadn't been bitten by one of them in order to get turned. She'd turned for reasons we didn't understand and that we needed to learn if we wanted to avoid a similar fate.

After hurriedly cleaning the wound, I slapped a bandage over it and closed the first aid kit. By the time we reached the Manning city limits I was cradling my M4 to my chest, the adrenalin rush now wearing off as we raced toward home.

Eighteen.

Alex was still asleep when we got back to the cabin.

We stumbled inside and Tracy took one look at me and panicked. "Oh my G.o.d, what happened?"

Emily was on the floor scrawling in a coloring book. She looked at me and her eyes got wide. "Daddy!"

"I'm okay," I said. Tracy led me past Emily to the kitchen, asking me what happened. Martin and Lori came out from their respective locations and began asking their own questions, which I could hear Wesley answer as he gave them a briefing in the living room.

As I sat down at the kitchen table, Tracy was visibly upset. She grabbed a pot. "Let me get some water to boil. That cut needs to be cleaned out better. What happened?"

"I got bit," I said.

"Bit? By Naomi?" Tracy exited the kitchen to draw water from the spring in the back of the house as I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes.

I felt a tiny hand on my knee. Opened my eyes. Emily stood in front of me, concern etched in her features. "Daddy?"

I reached out to her and she flung herself into my embrace. As I held her I could feel her little body tremble. "Daddy, I'm scared," she whimpered.

"Everything will be okay," I said. They seemed like the most useless words in the world considering the situation, but what else was I going to say?

"No it won't! That...that thing...with the wings..."

"What about it?" I took her gently by the shoulders and looked at her, trying not to appear panicked or scared. "Tell me, Emily, what do you know?"

"I don't know!" She started crying. She flung herself at me and buried her face in my chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

Tracy entered the kitchen with a pot of water. She set it on the stove, turned on the electric stovetop. I held Emily, trying to comfort her and failing miserably. Tracy knelt down to Emily. "Honey, Daddy's going to be okay. Mommy just has to clean his cut better and-"

"The winged thing is coming!" Emily cried. She turned to her mother as she said this and I saw Tracy's eyes widen in fear.

Once again, I felt another chill race through me.

"Tell me what you know, Emily," I said gently.

Martin, Wesley, and Lori entered the kitchen. I glanced at them quickly and they seemed to understand the situation intuitively; whether they'd heard the brief exchange from the living room, I don't know. Whatever the case, they gathered around us in the kitchen, silent and curious to hear what Emily had to say.

Lori closed the kitchen door and knelt down to Emily's eye level as Tracy continued trying to calm her down. "Did you have bad dreams about the winged thing, baby?" Lori asked.

Sniffling, Emily nodded.

"And what happened in the dreams?"

"It was flying over us," Emily said solemnly. Her face was red, eyes still damp from tears. "It was flying all over the place and those wild people were outside. They were...attacking..." she started to cry again.

"They were attacking us?" I asked.

Crying again, Emily nodded.

We five adults were silent as Tracy, Lori, and I tried to calm Emily down. When her sobs had trickled down again, Tracy smoothed her hair back from her face. "Did you have these dreams at night?"

Emily shook her head, paused, and then nodded.

"You don't know or you aren't sure?"

Emily shrugged. "I don't know. I...I had them at night...last night and...today...just before Daddy and Wesley got home...when I was having my nap."

Tracy would have put Emily down for a nap shortly after we left the house to deal with Naomi. The timing implied in Emily's revelations was disturbing, to say the least.

"Why didn't you tell me about them, honey?" Tracy asked softly.

"I don't know!" Emily said, her voice threatening to break down again. She looked frustrated and scared.

"Were you afraid to tell me?"

Emily nodded, starting to cry again.

I touched Emily's shoulder, brushed her hair back. "You don't ever have to be afraid about telling us things, Emily," I said. "If you ever feel afraid or have any kind of weird dream...even if you just feel that weird sense like we experienced a month ago...you tell us. Okay?"

Emily nodded, sniffling. I could tell she understood.

"Do you feel okay enough to tell us about the dreams again?" Tracy asked her.

Emily nodded. "Yeah."

"Good. So what else happened in the dreams? You said the thing with wings was flying over our house?"

"Yeah. It was flying all over the place and those wild people...they were running around outside and some were...attacking us. I was trying to hide from them. I...couldn't see you or Daddy anywhere and I was afraid."

"Could you hear us?"

She nodded. "I could hear all of you. And I could see Wesley." She looked at Wesley. "He was carrying one of those big guns and shooting it. I was hiding in the cabinet by the TV. I closed the door and was hiding there, peeking out through a little hole and watching."

"And what happened?" Tracy asked.

"I saw that girl," Emily said. She looked fearfully at Tracy and me. "The one that didn't like me. Heather."

"And what was she doing?" I asked, instantly feeling a sense of dread wash over me. I glanced at Tracy quickly. How did Emily know Heather didn't like her?

"She was here," Emily said. "She was...I could tell she was dead...she looked like one of those dead things in that cartoon...the Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy...what do you call them?"

"Zombies," I said, immediately noticing the implications.

"She looked like that. And there were more with her."

"How many more?" Martin asked.

"A lot." Emily wasn't crying anymore.