The Hand That Feeds: A Prequel to the Decaying World Saga

By Michael W. Garza

How far will a parent go to keep their child alive?

John and Angela Mason’s lives are brought to a tormenting halt when their ten-year-old son is reduced to a lifeless shell. John watches his wife slip into madness as his son rises from the dead. He realizes they must escape the terrifying infection to survive, but how can he choose between the insanity consuming his wife and the undying hunger of his son. An appetite for death will come in one form, or another and John is forced to decide on the hand that feeds.

The Decaying World Saga Our world decayed, and a new world arose from the ashes of the old. The remains of the human race cling to life decades after a decimating global plague. The infected hunt the living as the dead roam abandoned streets craving the taste of flesh. Book I: Tribes of Decay Mia and Rowan hope to carve out a life for themselves in an apocalyptic wasteland, but fate has other plans. They are forced to leave behind the relative safety of their home after a chance encounter challenges everything they have ever known.

Evolution always finds a way...

Dive deeper into the Decaying World within the pages of The Last Infection: A Prequel to The Decaying World Saga The Last Infection The infection swept across the country like a tidal wave. Survivors cling to life as the infected own the night and the dead walk the streets. Chris has endured on his own, and bumping into Jake and Alicen was not in his plans. The young brother and sister have plans of their own, but Chris has heard too many promises of sanctuary and infection-free zones. Jenn’s arrival turns his attention to the one thing he never thought he would face again, hope. They make a pact to reach the safe-haven, but only time will tell if anyone can survive the last infection.

• Language: English
• Publisher: neverhavenpress
• Release date: Mar 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463196786

Michael W. Garza

Michael W. Garza often finds himself wondering where his inspiration will come from next and in what form his imagination will bring it to life. The outcomes regularly surprise him and it’s always his ambition to amaze those curious enough to follow him and take in those results. He hopes everyone will find something that frightens, surprises, or simply astonishes them.

Book preview

THE HAND THAT FEEDS

A Prequel to the Decaying World Saga

By

Michael W. Garza

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including

photocopying, recording, or by any information and retrieval

system, without the written permission of the author, except

where permitted by law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and

incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or

are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,

locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Michael W. Garza

All rights reserved.

Proofread by Karen Robinson of

INDIE Books Gone Wild.

Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too.

They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.

-Stephen King

Also by Michael Garza

The Decaying World Saga

The Hand That Feeds

The Last Infection

Tribes of Decay

Season of Decay

Cult of the Elder Mythos

The Elder Unearthed

(A collection of tales)

Vision of the Elder

NeverHaven

Children of the Mark

Rise of the Elder

Drums in the Abyss

The Shadow Gate Chronicles

The Last Shadow Gate

A Veil of Shadows

1

Evansville Kansas …

Alex’s lungs burnt in desperation as he vomited a powerful rush of the rotten, black mulch. Unable to control his body, he felt a warm rush of his bowels releasing as he struggled for consciousness. In a fit of madness, he pushed with his arms, finding only enough strength to lift his head. Pain wracked his ten-year-old body.

He heaved with another powerful purge, the force of the motion giving him enough movement to flip himself over on his back. He coughed and gagged on the spewing sludge. The stench clung to him, filling the pores of his skin. He lost the strength to move, lying in the darkness. He tried to catch his breath. A slow burn rose from his feet up to his legs and thighs. Terrified and alone, he cried in between violent purges, calling out for his mother.

Alex fought against the pain. His feet were numb, and the burning sensation sent writhing throbs into his spine. It reached his waist, and he felt like his skin was on fire. He dug his fingers into the ground and turned over.

He dragged through thick muck, struggling with every inch. Shrouded in darkness and guided by his memory, he pulled over piles of bones buried in the ground. By luck, he reached the chamber’s edge below the tunnel entrance. It took every ounce of strength he could muster to get to his feet.

His fingernails bent and split as he fought against his body to get up into the tunnel. The climb ahead felt impossible. In near blinding madness, he wept, his face buried in the dirt. The heat was in his chest, and his lungs cooked with every breath. He was sure he would never see his parents again, and the pain of it crushed his will.

There was no sense of time down in the hole. Alex lost his grasp of reality as the maddening heat worked its way into his neck and face. He pulled his way into the first chamber without the use of his legs. The last burrow remained, and the smell of fresh air hit him with a powerful reaction.

Alex pulled by instinct as the heat consumed his face and stole his sight. Visions filled his mind of death and decay. He pulled free as the burning took control, and he screamed wildly in the night. He rolled on his back and howled like an animal baying at the moon. The guttural growls coming from him carried in the air, and desperate ears heard his cries.

♦

Angela Mason was consumed by her madness. Her son was missing, and she waited with a frantic hope as her husband, John, searched the surrounding farmland. She heard Alex’s voice like an eagle picking out its young’s first cries for food.

Alex, she said, screaming. She ran from the back door out into the yard. Hysterically, she scanned the moonlit grass. John, for God’s sake, I can hear him.

She ran out into the grass and found her son. He was covered in a vile mixture of vomit and mud. She collapsed to her knees and grabbed his head. His breathing was shallow, and his stare wild.

I have you, sweetheart, she said as tears streamed down her face. I will never let you go.

♦

John Mason kicked open the back door and carried his son into the house. His arms and legs hung limp, dangling lifeless and unresponsive. Horrible cries filled the home as Angela was consumed by agonizing grief. She burst into the house behind her husband.

God, no, she said. Please, not my baby.

John laid his son on the dining room table, and Angela wiped frantically at the black ooze covering the boy’s face and chest. The smell was awful, enough to cause John to gag.

Watch him, he said.

John ran into the kitchen and grabbed the old phone hung on the wall. His wife was still screaming in the background as he tried to remember Doctor Taylor’s phone number. He knew calling 911 was what he should do, but Dr. Taylor could get to the house a lot faster.

Oh, God.

Shut the hell up, John said in frustration. He looked at the phone numbers and had a sudden epiphany. Just let me freaking think. He dialed the number and waited.

One ring, two rings, three rings…

Hello.

Dr. Taylor, something’s happened to Alex.

John, John Mason?

Yeah, Doc, there’s something wrong. He’s barely breathing. Can you get over here?

I’m on my way.

John hung up the phone and walked back to the dining room table. Angela was inconsolable. She looked helpless, trying to rub the ooze off Alex’s skin. She held onto a rag covered with the black muck, but her effort had little effect.

He’s going to be okay, she said in a faint voice.

I know, John said.

He’s going to be okay, she repeated as she climbed up on the table and pulled Alex in between her legs.

John felt useless. He stared at his son’s chest and watched it slowly rise and then fall. He felt like curling up on the ground. There was nothing either of them could do but wait for Dr. Taylor. Angela got down off the table and dragged Alex toward the edge. Her eyes bulged as she stared at John.

Grab his feet, she said.

Honey, what are you doing?

I’m going to get this mess off him.

I don’t think we should move him.

Angela’s face flushed red with rage. Grab his damn feet, she said.

John grabbed the boy’s legs at the ankles. They lifted him from the table, and his body hung limp in the space between the parents. John focused on the boy’s chest, praying each time he gasped for breath. Angela’s eyes were wild. She moved in jittery steps, the processing of what was going not catching up with her thoughts. They carried him into the bathroom, and Angela struggled to flick on the lights. She balanced Alex’s head and shoulders on her lap as she sat on the edge of the tub and turned on the water.

John watched his wife’s lips. She was talking to herself, her mouth moving as she went about her task. Her hands shook as she tried to turn the knobs. Water burst from the spout a moment later, and she ripped Alex from John’s grasp. She fell back into the tub with the boy on top of her.

Good God, Angela, John said, reaching for her.

She growled at him, pulling Alex’s head up to her chest. Give me the towel, she said.

John did as he was told. He sat on the toilet and watched Angela wipe feverously at the black smears on their son. When she was done, she picked Alex up and carried him across the bathroom floor. Water covered the tiles as their soaked clothes dripped with her every step.

It was over an hour before the doorbell rang, and John rushed to the living room. Dr. Taylor let himself in and met John at the end of the hall. John’s face was filled with dread, and the doctor did not bother with pleasantries.

Where is he?

John turned to discover Angela was not behind him. He rushed back down the hall and found her sitting on the edge of Alex’s bed. The boy was underneath the covers. The bed was drenched.

The look on Dr. Taylor’s face spoke volumes. He approached the bed in a series of cautious steps and peered at Alex with bated breath. The black ooze left the boy’s skin darker than usual. The covers were pulled up to his chin, and the boy was shaking underneath.

The doctor sat on the edge of the bed. His silver hair was disheveled and out of place. He had dressed in a hurry, and the undershirt revealed a bulging waistline usually covered by a crisp suit. He set a small leather bag down on the floor between his feet and rummaged through it for a moment, retrieving his stethoscope. He leaned over Alex and pulled the covers down to his waist. John stepped through the bedroom doorway and closer to the bed, glancing at his wife, then at Alex.

Dr. Taylor checked Alex’s pulse at the wrist and then listened to his breathing. His expression was difficult to read. He felt Alex’s throat and then shined a small pen light in his eyes. He rubbed his hand along the edge of his chin and sat back, looking at Angela.

His pulse is slow but steady.

What about his breathing? she asked. He’s going to be all right, isn’t he? Her voice was controlled but anxious. He’s going to be all right, she said quietly.

Dr. Taylor glanced at John before answering. I need to know what happened, he said.

Angela did her best to explain the events surrounding Alex’s disappearance. John heard little of his wife’s recounting. His mind was focused on the look Dr. Taylor gave him. He knew it had little to do with Alex.

Dr. Taylor was a counselor of sorts to Angela. She’d suffered from severe depression for over a decade. The only thing that kept her on the better side of sane was Alex. They did not have the money for good insurance, and Dr. Taylor was the best help John could get for her. She had made progress after Alex was born, although she had her good and bad days. John did not want to consider what might happen to her mind if something happened to their son. Silently, John bet Dr. Taylor was thinking that very same thing.

So you don’t know where this dark substance came from? Dr. Taylor asked.

Angela shook her head.

I’d like to get a sample of it and take a blood sample as well.

We can’t pay for any tests, Doc, John said.

Angela scowled at him.

Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out, Dr. Taylor said.

He removed a pair of plastic surgical gloves from his bag and a small kit. It took him a few minutes to get what he needed. When he was finished, Dr. Taylor covered Alex with the blankets and put his equipment away. He pulled off his gloves and patted Angela’s hands.

You can get a little of that black stuff out of the tub, John said.

Dr. Taylor nodded. He gave Angela a warm smile and then followed John out into the hallway and to the bathroom. Both men kept quiet while the doctor scooped up the black liquid around the tub drain as much as possible. Once he had everything he needed, the two men headed for the front door. They stood outside on the porch, their breath circling their heads as they exhaled into the cold night air. John kept his hands in his pockets, unsure if he wanted to know what Dr. Taylor thought.

Alex needs to be in a hospital.

John nodded. He had seen that one coming.

I have no way of knowing what that boy ingested, Dr. Taylor said. It could be anything. I saw traces of it in his mouth. He’s not responding as he should.

You sure as hell didn’t make that known in there.

I didn’t want to in front of…. Dr. Taylor looked through the window in the front of the house and lowered his voice. I didn’t want to upset Angela any more than she already was.

I can’t afford a hospital bill, Doc. Hell, we can barely pay the mortgage now.

Would you rather be homeless or childless?

John’s gaze fell to the ground.

Dr. Taylor took a deep breath. His cheeks were cherry red from the cold. I apologize. I shouldn’t have said that.

You’re just being honest, John said.

Dr. Taylor thought for a moment. Let’s do this. You stay close to Alex. Watch him. I’ll run some tests, and once we have the results, we’ll make a decision then.

Do you think he’ll be all right? John asked.

Just watch him. Call immediately if anything changes.

Dr. Taylor started to walk to his car. He got halfway across the yard and turned back to John. And Angela…

John nodded. I know. I’ll keep an eye on her.

He gave John a half-hearted smile and waved. John waited until the doctor pulled out of the driveway before going back into the house. He tried to shake off the cold as the heat hit him, walking through the living room. He had never been any good at making decisions. Not even the few years he served in the U.S. Army after high school did much for his confidence. Angela took care of most of the significant issues in the house. He was practically paralyzed when she went through one of her spells, with no other family to depend on.

He crept down the hall and reached Alex’s door. Angela had moved around the bed and gotten under the covers. She had wrapped her body around Alex and had his head resting on her stomach. She never looked up at John even as he stepped into the room.

Dr. Taylor’s going to run some tests, he said.

Angela did not respond.

He wants us to keep an eye on Alex and call him if anything changes.

Still nothing.

I’m going to go out to the—

Angela started to speak. John could see her lips moving but could not hear her whispers. It took him a moment to pick out the words through the room’s haunting silence.

Nothing’s going to happen to you, she said. Her eyes stared at the wall across from the bed with no recognition of her surroundings. Nothing’s going to happen to you. She rubbed Alex’s hair across his forehead. Nothing’s going to happen to you.

John backed out of the room.

Nothing’s going to happen to you.

The look on Angela’s face brought a sudden rush of fear to John. Alex had to be all right, or he would lose both of them for sure.

2

John sat up in a daze. His memory was fuzzy, but he recognized the living room. He had fallen asleep on the couch in an awkward position, and there was a terrible pain in his lower back. He rubbed his hands over his face and tried to shake the cobwebs from his mind. A sudden recollection washed over him, and his mind focused on Alex. He froze in place, then tossed his legs off the side of the couch and waited. He stared at the television screen and listened to the sounds of the house; the silence was haunting.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the dining room table was still a mess. A thin line of light breeched the curtains over the window by the back door. Smudge marks covered the tabletop, and the black ooze that had coated Alex now stained the wood. John got to his feet and walked toward the hall.

He reached Alex’s bedroom door and felt along the wall for the hall light. The sudden illumination forced him to close his eyes and then try to strain to see into the bedroom. The small bed was covered in blankets, and a large lump revealed something hidden somewhere beneath. Hesitantly, he tiptoed in. In the light from the hall, he could see the blanket slowly rise and then fall. He heard the sound of deep, labored breaths. Angela’s long, black hair was visible around the edges of the blanket.

He moved around the bed toward the rear wall. Cold air seeped in through the edge of the open window. John saw the smaller impression of Alex’s body. He lay close to his mother, covered by the blanket. John was anxious. He wanted to see his son breathing but was terrified to pull back the blanket and look. It took him several moments, standing frozen in the shadows of the bedroom before he found the courage. Slowly, he took hold of the blanket and eased it back. Alex’s hair was matted to his face; patches of ooze clung to the strands of hair like bubblegum. John held his breath.

He waited for Alex to move, looking for a rise from his pajama top. A second felt like an hour when the boy’s chest did not move. John’s hand shook, and the blanket moved. Angela shifted, and the material pulled away from his grip. Instinctively, he tried to grab it but grabbed Alex’s shirt instead and felt a thick residue stick to the palm of his hand. He let the shirt go and then saw the material shift as Alex took a small breath. John could not settle his nerves as he pulled the blanket back in place and left the room.

The clock read 5:37, and the living room was filled with early morning light. John stood in the middle of the room, getting dressed. The nametag on his dark blue shirt read Jon. The shirt belonged to someone who had worked at the car repair shop the year before he started. The name was close enough for him. He slipped on his boots and made sure his lunch was packed. He was putting on his jacket when Angela’s voice startled him.

What are you doing? she asked.

I have to work.

What about Alex?

Angela was a mess. She was wearing the clothes from the night before. Makeup was smeared across her cheeks, and she looked like she had been beaten.

You’re going to just leave him here? she asked.

John took a long breath. The last thing he wanted was to get her worked up. He had not been comfortable with the idea of leaving her alone, but he did not want to lose his job either.

Baby, I got to work.

Her expression was blank. She looked at the front bay window as if they were not in the middle of a conversation.

Are you going to be all right? he asked. She did not answer. He picked up his lunch bag and headed toward the door. I’ll be back as soon as I can.

He backed out of the drive and turned onto the long dirt road leading to the interstate. He cracked the window and let the smoke from his cigarette out into the cool morning air. The violet hue on the horizon lit the open landscape, but John was lost in his thoughts. The dread of the situation weighed heavily on his shoulders. Alex looked horrifying. The vision of his small, frail body barely breathing clung to his mind.

He felt a tear swell in his eye and then roll down his cheek. He thought about his son as if he were already dead. John turned on the radio and let the music fill the cabin of his truck. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt and took another long drag of his cigarette. He could not imagine being at work all day, waiting for some frantic phone call from Angela, but he also could not stay in the house another moment. He did not know what to do. The family was already on the brink. He had pretended not to notice when Angela started drinking again, and neither one of them wanted to talk about the mounting bills. John was closer to the edge than he ever thought one person could reach without going over.

♦

The sun had risen by the time John reached work. The shop was already open as he pulled in behind the building. He tried to regain his composure by taking several deep breaths. He was not one to share his feelings and wanted to keep his problems to himself.

You watch the game last night?

John looked over and saw Mike Anderson getting out of his car; his signature ponytail hung over his shoulder.

No, I missed it.

Man, you’re kidding me, Mike said. You missed a hell of a game.

John waited for Mike, and the two headed in together. From the moment he got onto the shop floor, he was busy. He wanted to forget about everything going on at home and threw himself at every available job. There was plenty to do and more than enough to keep his mind occupied. By the time he got a moment to check the clock, it was past noon.

He devoured his lunch, sitting on a bench outside the shop. The afternoon sky was clear and blue. The air was cool, but the sun made it tolerable. He got back to work after rushing through his sandwich, and an hour after lunch, his boss, Mark Jacobs, motioned for him from behind the glass between the shop floor and his office. Mark pointed to the phone and then back out at John. A sudden rush of anxiety washed over him, and his hands shook as his thoughts turned to his family. He stumbled across the shop floor to the phone on the wall. Sweat built on his brow as the panic grew in his chest. Slowly, he picked up the receiver and pulled it to his ear as if it might bite him.

Hello.

John heard a click as Mark hung up the other line.

John?

He breathed a sigh of relief as he recognized the doctor’s voice.

Dr. Taylor, this is John.

A deep breath followed a long silence. John prepared himself for the worst.

I’ve done some blood work on the samples I took from Alex, Dr. Taylor said.

There was another long pause as if Dr. Taylor was reading something, waiting for this minute