Strain of Resistance (Bixby Series book 1)

By Michelle Bryan

My name is Bixby. I was 12 years old when the world ended. A mysterious mist had blanketed our world, turning most of the population into blood-thirsty predators. The few of us left uninfected...well, we were the prey. Vanquished to the bottom of the food chain.

For eight years we've fought this alien war. Barely surviving. Not knowing which day would be our last. But now we face a new threat. The alien parasite that took us down is evolving. Becoming smarter. Stronger. Deadlier.

The infected took everything from me. My home. My family. The man that I loved. No more.

This is the story of our resistance.

Mature themes. 17+ Rating

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michelle Bryan
• Release date: Feb 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370742554

Michelle Bryan

Michelle Bryan lives in Nova Scotia Canada. Besides her family, her other passions in life consist of chocolate and writing, and she is lucky enough to work with both. When she is not busy being a full time chocolate store manager and writer, Michelle enjoys spending time with her husband and son. Please visit her on Goodreads or follow her on Twitter @michellebry101. She would love to hear from her readers so feel free to leave comments or ask questions.

Book preview

Chapter One

Iwas twelve years old when the world ended.

Not by any nuclear weapon, or asteroid strike, or series of natural disasters like so many doomsday soothsayers had prophesied. Nothing so dramatic. In fact, it didn't end with a bang at all. It ended with a whimper. A deceivingly harmless, crystallized mist had covered our world in a day, leaving total devastation in its wake. Maybe if we had known then what the mist had concealed, we would have taken more precaution. Maybe if we had any kind of advanced warning, more of us would have survived. Maybe.

It happened eight years ago, but I remember like it was just yesterday.

I was in the park, only a block from my house. I went to the park a lot when my father was home. He was a truck driver and away from home most weeks out of the year. But when he was home, well, he made up for lost time. The drinking began around noon, the yelling around three, and the hitting around five. Like clockwork. My mom tried to protect me from the worst of it. She carried the scars--some visible, most not--of our never-ending battle. She would quietly send me off to the park or my safe zone in the attic when it was too dark outside. She would know when he was about to be set off, almost like her spidey senses would kick in. She would whisper those dreaded words to me; go play. Like she believed if she kept me out of his sight, then he wouldn't hurt me. And it worked...most of the time. There had been occasions when I hadn't made it to the front door or gotten the hatch to the attic pulled up before I was yanked back by the hair of my head. It only happened a few times before I learned to be quicker. I learned to react real fast or suffer the consequences.

That day started out no different from any other. Don't even remember what set him off. Maybe he didn't like what she was cooking for dinner. Maybe he found a speck of dirt in the always immaculate house. Maybe the football game on TV wasn’t going his way. Or maybe it was just the sight of my face. Who the hell knew with him? But he was in a foul mood, so I didn't even wait for my mom's warning. I just headed for the park.

I knew I wouldn't find any of my friends there this late in the evening. In fact, the whole park was empty. No neighbors pushing their babies in their bulky, prissy carriages and taking up the whole dang sidewalk. No dogs chasing Frisbees or tennis balls across the green grass. No middle-aged neighbors jogging, trying in vain to work off their paunch. Not like usual. The only company I had was old man Heff who was the park’s resident homeless dude. He was sitting on the same park bench that he sat on every day and feeding the birds like usual. He never spoke in all the time I knew him, other than to mumble incoherent words at the pigeons. They were the only creatures he ever acknowledged. So I guess in theory, I was truly alone in the park that day. Everyone else was home with their nice families, having nice dinners and nice conversations.

Most times I envied my friends. I never could understand why my house wasn't that way, why my dad wasn't like the other dads, and why we couldn't sit down to nice family dinners and talk about our day. Laugh about silly stuff. Things Mom and I did when he wasn’t home. My mom just cried every time I asked why she stayed, so I finally gave up on asking. I gave up on a lot.

Instead I sat alone in the park, swinging on the rusted old swing set with its peeling red paint, dragging my feet in the sand and ignoring the grumblings of my empty stomach. I knew I wouldn't get to eat any time soon. Not until he passed out at least and it would be safe to go back home. Another hour or two yet. Mom would keep my dinner warm in the oven until I could come home without waking him up. We had it down to a routine now. All I had to do was wait for the sun to go down.

Across the park, the pigeons suddenly took off in flight with a ruckus of panicked whistling and fluttering wings. I raised my eyes from the ground, wondering what had riled them. I was surprised to see darkness staining the earlier clear blue sky. My first thought was that a storm headed our way. Great. Just what I needed- to get soaking wet before I could go back home.

But then I realized what was moving towards me at a rapid pace wasn't clouds at all, but a mist of sorts. A grey avalanche of fog rolled in and covered the houses and streets with an eerie, ghost-like quality. It wasn’t smoke since there was no smell. But the mist was just as heavy as the thick smoke that spewed from the smokestacks of the power plant on the other side of town.

It moved fast, swallowing up everything in its path. The lushness of the park disappeared as the crawling tendrils enveloped me and turned my world opaque. The soft wisps swirled about me, darting this way and that, almost as if they were studying me. I remember being enthralled by this ghostly dance, wondering what on earth it could possibly be. It was almost hypnotizing. Glittering crystals floated in and out of the mist...as if they had a life force of their own. It was only much later that I would learn they actually did.

A clump of crystals danced in front of my face like swirling snowflakes, and I reached out and tried to catch them on my fingertips. I laughed as my touch triggered them to break apart and scatter, changing formation. Then without warning, they converged and swarmed me, covering my mouth and nose like a wet cloth. With every breath I felt them scratching at my throat and I panicked. Wrapping my hands around my neck, I coughed and spat and tried desperately to get rid of the blockage. I couldn’t suck in any oxygen. I fell out of the swing and onto my knees, my vision fuzzy around the edges. The threat of blacking out was all too real, and I was terrified I was going to die. And then just like that, it was over. The crystals clawed at my throat as they made their way back up, making me gag. They trickled out of my mouth and into the air. The mist surrounding me reabsorbed them like a thirsty sponge, and then it just moved on. As if the crystals decided I wasn’t worth their time.

I sucked the sweet air into my starving lungs, spitting out the oily aftertaste in my mouth. Still on my knees in the playground dirt, a cold shiver passed over me and I couldn't help but feel I’d just had a very narrow escape. But from what? 

I watched as the wet mist slithered away from the park; the ominous gloom now moving to the other side of town. It didn't look like a harmless cloud anymore. The way it moved, slinking over the roads and houses, it appeared to be filled with malicious intent.

What the hell was that?

Suddenly remembering old Heff, I scanned the park looking for him. I needed to see if he’d been attacked the same as me; because even as young as I was, I knew what happened had been an out-and-out attack on my being. I found him lying on the ground under his bench, unmoving. I wanted to go to him and see if he was okay. I tried standing, but my wobbly legs had other plans. They refused to support my weight, and I fell back into the dirt. Staring after the mist with frightened eyes, I prayed silently to God that it wouldn't change direction and return.

I don't know how long I stayed crouched in the dirt. Five or ten minutes, maybe. I knew I should get up. I should get the hell out of there, but instead I stayed down like a shivering mass of spineless jelly. Movement at the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I almost cried out in relief as Heff sat up.

Then I saw his eyes.

A dark liquid oozed from them. Blood. Blood was coming out of his freakin’ eyes! My mind screamed at me to run, but my body turned to stone and rooted in the dirt. His eyes opened slowly, the whites contrasting sharply with the red. My own eyes threatened to pop from their sockets as my heart slammed painfully in my chest. Fear soon escalated to terror, for what I witnessed burned in my brain and haunted my dreams for years to come.

His mouth opened wide as if his jaws had hinges, causing the corners of his lips to split open and blood to squirt out either side. His very flesh tore apart. I heard it tear with a sickening rip, and my stomach rolled violently as I gagged. Strips of bloody meat flapped over his now exposed gums and teeth. My brain refused to define what was happening as a gray, thick tentacle clawed its way out of his mouth and exploded into the air with a fresh spurt of blood. For some insane reason, the sped-up clip I had watched in biology class last week of a sunflower seed sprouting from the dirt popped into my head. This looked exactly the same. Like the tentacle had germinated and sprouted out of the old man’s throat.

A shrill keening pierced the air. The sound caught the creature's attention, and the disfigured head turned my way. Horrified, I realized the sound spilled out of me. I covered my mouth with my hand, trying to strangle the scream. But it was too late. In response the worm-like thing splayed opened and from its black, inky innards, silver teeth glinted in the evening sun like dozens of tiny blades. Teeth clearly made for ripping and tearing flesh.

I didn't wait to see any more. As much as I was in denial, my honed survival instinct kicked in. I lurched to my feet and ran.

My twelve-year-old legs were much shorter than my pursuer’s, but the sound of thick, wet gurgles following me down the street had me practically flying the block to my house. I didn't even think to stop at the nearest house. My house and my mother were the only thoughts in my head.

I ran up my front steps and fell through the door, slamming it behind me with enough force to rattle the windows. I didn't even care that it would be sure to draw my father’s wrath. In fact, I hoped it did. Let him deal with the monstrosity outside.

I stumbled away from the door, my heart threatening to burst out of my chest. I stared at the door in dread, fearing any second for it to crash open and that thing that was once Heff to barrel through. But it remained intact. With bated breath, I listened for any telltale sign that that thing hovered outside. I heard nothing.

Gathering up my last bit of courage, I peered cautiously through the narrow window that bordered the door. The thing was still standing in the street. And that's all it was doing...just standing. It wasn't looking at my house trying to figure out some fiendish way to get inside. It wasn't looking about at all. It was just standing. Almost as if it had forgotten it was chasing me.

I watched as Heff stumbled away, like he was drunk. What was that thing my mom always said? Out of sight, out of mind. The thing that undoubtedly wanted to rip me apart only minutes ago appeared to have forgotten about me. Or maybe it was because it couldn't see me anymore. Either way it was no longer chasing me, and I sobbed a little in relief.

I rubbed at my eyes, wiping away sweat and tears. Crying was a weakness I hadn’t given in to in years, yet here I was bawling like a baby. My body convulsed like I’d been slam dunked in some icy river. My teeth knocked together, and I clamped my lips to keep from biting my tongue. Wrapping my arms around my chest, I tried to hold myself together. I needed to find Mom. I needed her to tell me everything was going to be okay.

The sound of the TV blaring from the den was almost surreal as I tiptoed past. Now that the other monster was no longer a threat, I still didn't want to poke the one living in my house. Veering off to the kitchen, I was brought up short by the smell of burning food. Mom never burnt anything. She wouldn't dare. Hurrying before it got his attention, I grabbed the oven mitts and turned off the oven. Pulling out the tray of now charred chicken and potato wedges, I dropped the hot platter on top of the stove and waved at the smoke with my gloved hand.

Mom? I whispered at the haze filled kitchen. No answer.

The smoke filtered out the cracked kitchen window, and the sight of it hit me like a punch to the gut. The window was open. Open to let anything that had been outside, in.

Where was she? The lump of dread in my stomach made me almost want to puke as I stepped hesitantly into the hallway. The old shag carpet sucked at my feet like some marshy mud, refusing to let me turn back. I stopped walking and peered around the corner into my bedroom. It was empty and just as I had left it this morning. My gaze was caught by the evening sun glinting off the silver framed picture on the nightstand. The picture of me and my mom. It suggested normalcy. I knew today was anything but.

I checked the bathroom--also empty. Mom wasn't in there. That left my parent’s room at the end of the hall. The door to that bedroom seemed to grow in front of my eyes the longer I stared at it. I suddenly felt like Alice in Wonderland after the Drink Me potion. I'm shrinking. I'm shrinking. The words bounced around in my head with an echo of madness.

    I didn't want to go anywhere near that door. My gut was telling me to run. Get away. But I needed to find my mom. The door stood slightly ajar. I took a shaky breath and pushed it open the rest of the way.

    The first thing I saw was my father's gun lying by the dresser, like someone had tried to take it out of the top drawer where it was kept but had dropped it in the process. The second thing I saw was his back as he hunched over mom's body, which was spread across the bed. Only her dangling legs and head were visible; his stocky frame hid the rest of her from me. Her face was turned toward me, and the look of terror captured forever in her now unseeing eyes chilled me to my core. The wet, smacking sounds that filled the room and the wide stain of red soaking the white bedspread told my mind that hope was already lost for my mom, but my heart refused to believe it.

NO! I screamed, as I lunged at my father's back. With one swipe of his arm, he sent me flying across the room and I crashed into the dresser mirror, smashing it on impact. I slid down. Brutal pain tore through my face as my jaw caught on a jagged piece of glass-slicing me open. But there was no time to wallow in my pain, for the creature now turned to me. Through my haze of fear, I saw the hideous worm-thing protruding from my father’s mouth, flapping in anticipation as it smelled more blood.

Terror. Pain. Grief. They all combined into one agonizing scream that threatened to take me under. The creature lurched toward me and I tried to back up, but with the solid dresser behind me there was no place to go. I reached out blindly, searching for anything I could use as a weapon. My hand made contact with cold steel. The gun.

Shaking my head to keep the blood out of my eyes, I aimed the weapon and tried desperately to remember what Mom had taught me. I pushed the safety down with my thumb knuckle and squeezed the trigger, firing at the creature. He jerked with the impact of each shot, but still he came at me. I kept shooting, my screams in sync with the gunshots. I lost track of how many times I fired, but the clicking of an empty chamber finally registered. No more bullets. With a pathetic last attempt at self-defense, I threw the useless gun at him. It bounced harmlessly off of his chest. Closing my eyes in surrender, I waited for the pain to come. Please let it be over quick, I prayed fleetingly as I covered my head with my arms and tried to shrink into the dresser.

Nothing happened. There was no attack. No pain. I opened my eyes a crack, expecting to find the creature preparing to rip my face off. Instead I found my father's body lying at my feet. The bullets had done their job. He was crumpled over sideways. Not moving. The grisly abomination hung lifelessly from his mouth.

The ensuing silence was peppered by my frantic breaths. I kept staring at the thing on the floor just inches from me, but still it didn't move. The gray monstrosity had done the same thing to his face as it had to Heff. My father had been considered a handsome man once, but not anymore.

Funny, I didn't feel anything as I stared at the dead man that helped give me life. I didn't check to see if he was okay. Instead I kicked at him, trying to push him--and it--away. Images from all the old horror movies my mom and I used to watch jumped into my head, and I kept expecting the