Phantoms: Book 1

By Samuel Kelsey

Three years after an epidemic caused by the “Phantom virus,” an unknown catalyst that causes victims to turn into zombie-like beings with yellowing flesh, a young teen named Griffon lives on his own in Rochester, New York, fighting for survival. Things change when he meets with a group sheltered up outside of town. Just when he thinks he finally has a place to stop and rest, a new revelation strikes.

The group learns of a cure being created in DC at the Pentagon. Determined to find a safe haven and an end to the pandemic, Griffon and the others begin a long travel south. Along the way, Griffon and the others meet new faces. They also discover the world around them is changing to become incredibly bizarre. And dangerous.

Set in a postapocalyptic 2019, the story of Phantoms follows the views of multiple characters as they deal with a now broken world and feeling that something bigger is happening around them, and its close. With new dangers and peculiar creatures around each corner, the survivors will have to learn fast if they wanna stay alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645310471

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Phantoms

Book 1

Samuel Kelsey

Copyright © 2019 Samuel Kelsey

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2019

ISBN 978-1-64531-046-4 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64531-047-1 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Part 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Part 2

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Part 3

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Dedicated to my parents and sister, who pushed me and helped me get this out there in the first place.

Prologue

One bite is all it takes.

One bite to be infected.

One bite to become ravenous.

One bite to become rotten.

One bite to infect others.

One bite to keep it spreading.

One bite to infect the world.

One bite to destroy humankind.

All it takes is one bite.

One bite, to become a Phantom.

Part 1

Chapter 1

City in Ruins

Griffon

Sleep is one of the most terrifying things nowadays.

Sleep used to be a place for peace, rest, and tranquility for your mind. Now it’s nothing but a feverish drift, praying to god something doesn’t kill you in your sleep. Whether it be a Phantom, another person, or even a wild animal. Even at that the nightmares are enough to keep you awake.

Trying to sleep has never been a big thing for me. Being a foster kid, I would always have dreams of parents who were never there, only to wake up realizing they still aren’t around.

The Phantoms only seemed to make it worse. This morning, I woke up in a cold sweat after about two hours of a drift between sleeping and consciousness. So yeah, a pretty good night.

It’s strangely funny, this whole Phantom thing. Everyone seemed to have a silent agreement to call them that. I’ve never heard them called anything else. Not even zombies, which they also closely resemble. I don’t know, maybe it’s the yellow skin or something. All I know is everyone is convinced it’s some kind of virus while I have my own…let’s call them beliefs for now.

I take a look outside my window. I sleep on the third floor of the foster home, so I have pretty good view of the street. I live in the center of Rochester, New York, so I’m used to the large buildings and lack of greenery. Of course, there’s a small park right across from the building, so what the hell am I complaining about?

The foster home is located on the corner of St. Paul and Ward Street, and today I’m heading to a place called La Luna. It was some Italian restaurant that should (hopefully) have some food. It’s on the other side of the river, so I have to make my way to the Andrew Street bridge.

I move to the first floor entrance. Nothing really notable that I’ve done to the place besides pile furniture in front of the back entrance. It’s a relatively boring building. I make sure to grab my weapon, my trusty spear. It’s a silver-headed bill spear with a pointed end and a black hilt. It has a special meaning to me I would not like to share right now.

Looking around the street, I have high hopes that it will be a quiet day. There appears to be no movement of anything, and the path I’m taking seems completely clear. Still, you can never trust these kind of days.

Every part of me is covered in a nervous sweat. I try to adjust the bandage around my arm for comfort. It didn’t work. I’ve had this bandage since I could remember things. It’s used to hide a certain scar on my arm. It’s…a touchy subject to talk about.

Walking down the street, I begin to calm down a bit. Nothing dangerous appears to be nearby, and the only Phantom I’ve seen was distracted eating a stray cat. Nothing like killing something that was eating something else alive to work up an appetite.

It isn’t long until I find myself above the Inner Loop, the main freeway of Rochester. I never use it, but that’s only on account of the thousands upon thousands of Phantoms crowded shoulder to shoulder on it. In the early days, people thought blocking the Phantoms into it would keep them secure. They didn’t really think of where else they would come from.

Looking down at their faces always seems to calm me in a way. Maybe it’s because I always think, Hey, it could be worse. I could be like them. And it’s true, I could be like them, with sickly skin, no mind, and a pain-strained face. Maybe that’s why I keep going, so I don’t end up like them.

I finally reach Andrew Street, my personal ticket across the bridge, when suddenly I stop. I don’t know why I stopped. I just…did. It’s like the world was holding me in place, telling me to wait for something. Now, I’m not one for following fate, but if the universe tells you to stop, you stop.

So I wait for—I don’t know, something, anything to happen. I’ve lost track of time at this point, and my stomach keeps reminding me I have no food. So I pretty much give up and begin to leave. And then I hear it.

A scream. A loud, terrified scream. A scream that makes your blood freeze and your muscles to stop working. A scream so terrible even those who can’t hear would cringe at it. And it was coming from the opposite direction.

I’m in a crossroad right now. Either ignore this scream and continue my mission for food, or try to help whoever sounds like a banshee right now. Help myself or help someone else. Mind you, I haven’t seen another living person in two years, so this is difficult.

I can’t just let another person die, can I? Of course, I’ve also never met this person, who could be dangerous to me or even helpless and a burden. Wait, why would I call someone a burden? This experience is messing up my head.

Okay, time to make a decision. It’s now or never. I take one last look each way toward the bridge and down the street, and I decide.

I head toward the scream.

Chapter 2

United We Stand

Griffon

I’m running faster than I’ve ever run before.

I don’t know what’s pushing me, what’s making me go so fast to help this person in need. Maybe the scream is freaking me out. Maybe I’m being pushed by adrenaline. Maybe I feel deprived of social contact and want someone to talk to. Actually, saying that last one out loud does make it seem incredibly possible.

But what the hell would I even say? Hey, I rescued your life, you don’t know me, let’s hold hands and live in this shitty city together. Hur-hur-hur. No. Absolutely no.

I’m approaching Chestnut Street, and my chest feels like it’s going to explode. I can’t remember the last time I’ve run this fast. I memorized almost every corner and alley of the city, so I haven’t needed to use running as a getaway strategy in a while.

I know I’m going the right way though. The screams are getting louder and start to become more distinct. They sound like the screams of a woman, an older woman who wouldn’t fit the feminine archetype. Weird description, I know, but that’s what I think of.

Lost in my thoughts, I slam right into someone. I try to get up and help them, but instead I shriek. It isn’t a survivor I run into. It’s a Phantom. And she’s trying to attack.

She’s in terrible shape. Her skin’s puke yellow and peeling, and her hair is practically falling out in clumps. She has gnarled black-and-blue fingernails. Her clothes are nothing but greasy rags hanging off her tiny frame. She’s definitely a first-infection Phantom, been around for three years. And now it’s time for me to break her record.

I sidestep away from her weak grasp and waste no time taking out her legs. It makes the fight much easier. She’s flailing on the ground, so I press my shoe on her back to keep her still. I ready my spear, aim toward her head, and pause. I always pause before killing a Phantom like this; it helps me remember they used to be people.

May Eadith accept and guide you, I say and drive the spearhead into her skull as quick as possible. She jerks for a few seconds, and slowly her body goes limp. I shudder and resist the urge to throw up. Have I been too late?

No, I haven’t. The screaming is still happening, and I have to find the source. I take a look around, squinting my eyes and straining my vision when I see it. The survivor, trapped on top of an old truck in the middle of the road, was surrounded by Phantoms.

Hey! Over here! Help me! she screams. She’s an older woman, about midforties. She has an olive skin tone and auburn hair tied back into a tight bun. She’s wearing a basic sweatshirt with jeans and combat boots. Fashion forward. Not like I can say anything about it.

I waste no time. I take a quick look and try to see what her predicament is. She’s stuck on a garbage truck in the middle of the street surrounded by twelve to fifteen Phantoms. No cars or low roofs to jump. Nothing but a kitchen cleaver to defend herself. Climbing down meant certain doom.

However, I see a saving grace she wouldn’t be able to use. A sedan with keys and jumper cables hooked up to the battery, most likely filled with juice. Perfect.

I flag her down and make sure she knows I’m here to help. She looks incredibly relieved and waves back to show she sees me. I sneak around the truck, making sure not to alert any of the Phantoms and at the same time looking for threats in the shadows. After two painfully tense minutes, I reach the sedan.

It’s in an oddly good condition. It wasn’t blood-soaked or soiled by gore. Amazing luck for this car. And even more luck to this stranger.

I quickly open the door and start the car. The engine noises seems to interest a few Phantoms, but they go right back to banging on the truck. Damn it. Have to find a bigger push. Let’s see, there’s a sheet, a crushed can, a deceased Phantom on the sidewalk, and a working car. Idea.

I’m incredibly careful picking up the Phantom. He’s large and smells like sewage shit and other excrement, but I’m not deterred. I slowly lean him onto the wheel—and bam! The car horn is blaring, probably audible for about two miles.

This seems to interest the Phantoms. Almost in an instant, they turn toward the sound and slowly shuffle toward it. Slow enough, luckily, for me to make my trip back to the lady on the truck.

She quickly climbs down and gives me a quick nod before gesturing down the road. There’s a huge horde of Phantoms moving in toward the car. We waste no time running back down where I came from.

We reach Clifton Avenue, and we’re both heaving and out of breath. Guess we’re both out of shape. I turn to the lady. Hey…how you…doing? I ask.

Been worse…I guess, she heaves out. She quickly regains her bearings. Thank you so much. I thought it was the end of the road for me.

No problem, I respond, now back to a normal heart rate. My name is Griffon by the way.

Martha, she replies. What were you doing out there anyway, kid? And all by yourself, no less.

I shrug. Been on my own since this all began. Knew the city well, so it’s easy for me to avoid Phantoms. I heard your screaming and ran over to help. You would be the first living person I’ve seen in two years.

Really? Wow, you are one true survivor. Her eyes wander to my bandaged hand. Oh, are you hurt?

What? Oh no, it’s a cover bandage. For a scar, I lie. Well, I wasn’t really lying. It is to cover a scar, just not the traditional kind.

Okay, good. So where have you been staying?

At the foster home around the corner. It’s on the corner of Ward Street and St. Paul Street.

My group’s holed up at the Brook-Lea Country Club. You should come visit. You look like you could use a hot meal. And possibly a shower.

That does sound tempting, but then my logical side decides to kick in, for some reason waiting until now to do so. What if this is a trap, and you and your group just rob me or kill me?

I mean, you did just give away your name and where you live. If we wanted to do those things, we could just do it later.

She has a fair point, plus going with her means I have at least a chance of the comfortable things she mentioned. Why the hell not?

Sure, we can go right now if that’s okay.

It’s fine, I’m sure. We just have to go down Main Street then turn down Chili Avenue. It’s a helluva walk. I came down here yesterday, and I’ve been pulling an all-nighter.

Her directions make me sputter. Main Street?! The thing about Main Street is, it’s chock-full of wrecked and abandoned cars, so you have to squeeze through the cracks between vehicles. What makes it terrible is that Phantoms are hiding in every nook and cranny, ready to pounce.

It’s fine, Martha reassures me. I know a quick way to get through without being an arm’s length from a Phantom.

I nod, but my stomach is twisting, and I have a horrible feeling about this.

Main Street is a wasteland of vehicles.

There is literally no place where a car isn’t over the road. Even the sidewalks are tightly packed. It’s like everyone had the idea to drive here to get away.

Martha has this sort of shining pride in her face, and right now I’m questioning her sanity and my desperation for doing this.

So, Martha, what’s the plan here? Because I’m getting really close to backing out.

Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. Just be sure to follow my steps. I do this all the time.

Without elaborating, Martha jumps on the roof of the closest car. If this is her plan, it’s not a very good one. If a Phantom’s hand can reach something to grip, they can climb up with no problem.

I follow Martha over the car roofs. I can hear the Phantoms stirring, and I’m becoming a nervous wreck. Martha says something that snaps me back.

Climb on the bus! she shouts. She’s up with just a grab and a jump. When I reach the bus and try to climb, it’s like a slug trying to jump off the ground.

Okay, now what? I ask. Right now it looks like we just trapped ourselves on a roof. Again.

Simple, now we follow the path, she says matter-of-factly. I’m completely lost until I follow her gaze. Throughout the chaos of the street, there’s a clear path on the vehicle roofs. Buses, trucks, even an occasional tank. They all led down the street, seemingly for miles.

I looked back at Martha. She has a satisfied look on her face, like she just claimed victory of a championship game. What are you waiting for? She wants me to go first.

I look ahead. The nearest truck is maybe ten feet away. That’s a distance I’ve never tried before. But hey, Martha seems really confident, and my curiosity is screaming at me to keep going and meet her group. Might as well go parkour running. What was that thing people used to say? YOLO? Well, whatever it is, I’m doing it.

I step back as far as I can. Count to three. One. Two. Three! I sprint across the bus, and as soon as I reach the end, I push off with my leg with all of my strength, and then some. It feels like forever while I’m in the air, and I’m holding my breath and closing my eyes. I’m shocked back to life when I hear a thud, and my foot feels the roof of the truck.

I look back to Martha, and she’s grinning from ear to ear. My turn! she shouts and quickly runs across the bus. It looks so easy for her, and she looks so graceful, like a professional gymnast. She lands next to me, barely making any noise.

Ready to keep going? she asks me.

I simply nod. I feel incredible right now, invincible. I’ve forgotten what other people can do to you, to interact with someone. It always seems to bring the best out of you. Before I know it, I’m already sprinting for the next roof.

Soon enough, me and Martha are in a heated race, bouncing from roof to roof like it’s a trampoline park. We’re definitely waking up the Phantoms. I keep seeing them down on the street. But they can’t hurt us. We’re high and strong. And they are low and weak. We are invincible. They are vulnerable. We are—

Hold up! Martha screams.

I stop dead in my tracks, terrified she’s hurt or in trouble. Good thing she’s just looking back with a huge grin.

You almost missed our turn, genius, she jokes and points to her left. Chili Avenue is right next to us, and I’ve almost breezed right by it. I’m such an idiot.

It’s like my serious mode is turned back on. Right, we should get going. I slide straight down, Martha following right after.

We should also start running. We definitely woke the Phantoms. As if on cue, the familiar moans and growls of Phantoms emerge from the junkyard of the street. Martha’s already fifty feet away by the time I turn around.

Come on, slowpoke! she yells to me. We still got a long way to go.

Again with the goddamn running. Whatever. I suck it up, suck in some air, and quickly run after her.

Chapter 3

Home Sweet Home

Griffon

I’m tally marking the miles where we walk in silence. So far I’ve reached five.

Martha said we should get back to her camp by sundown. It’s probably about ten at night now. We had to make a bit of detouring in the city. My legs are still sore from all the jumping. The adrenaline from before is completely drained.

I decide to break the silence. "So, Martha, what did you before, you know, all this?"

Martha sighs, seeming relieved that we’re talking. I worked in a garden shop down in Schenectady. It was a family business with me, my parents, and my brothers. I was taking a vacation in Niagara Falls with some friends when this all started.

Are your friends at this camp?

Nah, they stayed at our hotel. Said it’d be safer to wait for help. I needed to find my family though, so I took off. Hope they’re still okay.

What about your family? Did you ever get back home?

Man, I gave up on going home long ago. Heard how bad things were in Schenectady. Everything was on fire, and there was gunshots and bombings from the military, destroying the place. I doubt they made it.

Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring it up. Now I don’t feel so good.

It’s all right. Doesn’t really hurt anymore. I think I handled it better than most would.

Clearly.

I count another mile of silence. Martha said it would be a, and I quote, long-ass walk and that we may need to camp out for the night. According to her stories, she’s been out in the city for two days.

So what about you? she asks. What’s your story, kid?

I shrug. Nothing much to tell. I lived in a foster home pretty much since I was one. My parents died, but I don’t know from what. I have an older brother, but at the time he was fourteen, too young to adopt me. Even when he was eighteen, I told him not to adopt me.

That seems to surprise Martha. Why’s that?

I shrug again. Didn’t wanna be a nuisance. He had college to go to and a career to get. Maybe after all that happened, he could have take me in. That was before we knew his job would have him travel across the country.

Man. That…that sucks. Christ, sorry. Not good with the sentimental stuff.

It’s all right. And you’re right, it does suck.

Martha looks up for the sky. It’s getting pretty dark out. We need to set up camp for the night. Safer that way.

I nod in agreement. It’s pitch-black out, and a Phantom ambush is the last thing I want right now. And I’m exhausted.

Over there. Martha points to a group of cars arranged in a way as they would act like a wall against anything on the road. The railing of the road acts as a back shield for the blockade. In the center of the barrier, two sleeping bags and a place where a campfire must have been used multiple times sits.

I use this spot when I come back to camp late, Martha explains, wasting no time in scaling the cars and lying back on one of the sleeping bags. I follow as swiftly as possible (which isn’t much) and lie back on the other bag.

Are we gonna light a fire?

Nah, it’s fine. It’s too dark to look for firewood anyway. Martha turns to her side. Night, Griffon.

Good night, Martha, I reply before crawling into my own bag. I turn up toward the sky and see how clear it is. All the stars are visible, and a near full moon illuminates the world. Despite the calming decor, it still takes me half an hour to actually sleep.

I have a nightmare about the first day.

It was the first day of when the Phantoms hit Rochester. It was the worst day of the past three years. It took maybe half the city getting infected for true panic to hit. You couldn’t go five feet without car crashes, gunshots, inhumane screams, and even explosions in some areas.

Looking back on it, I’ve counted maybe ninety-six times where I could’ve died. So far, I’ve had dreams of about fifty-seven of those moments taking an alternate path.

The one I’m having now is when I was caught under a truck tire, my leg completely wedged between it and a wall, and a huge Phantom lumbering toward me.

This guy was huge, like bodybuilder huge. He was probably 6 foot 3 and weighed what I’m guessing was 280 pounds. His head was covered in shaggy, greasy black hair. His skin was already a dark yellow, and he had eyes as black as his hair. He was coming straight at me, and I had no weapons. He would’ve torn me to shreds.

That is if fate didn’t send this random businessman to run in front of him.

Seriously, this tiny guy just ran right into the Phantom’s arms. And considering the size difference, what happened seemed pretty obvious. Meanwhile, I managed to pull my leg free and kept running, soon into another near-death experience.

This is a nightmare, though, and it’s what happened if that guy never runs into the Phantom. He is never stopped. My leg is never pulled free.

I know it’s a dream, but it just feels so…real. It’s like I can feel his teeth breaking my skin, the blood actually flowing out of me. Like I can feel myself turning even now.

My eyes shoot open in a nanosecond. My body feels flaming hot and ice cold at the same time. I have no idea where I am, until I hear Martha snoring and remember my day trip through town and down the highway.

I lie back down. It’s still dark out, but it takes forever to fall back asleep.

She’s poking me in the face with a Slim Jim.

Hey, sleepyhead, time to get up. I got breakfast.

Surprisingly, even after last night’s events, I manage to get up without much effort.

Apparently, her breakfast is two packages of beef jerky and an orange for us to split. That’s the world we live in now. What’s that one term people used to say? The struggle is real? Bet they never expected this to be the struggle.

I am still pretty hungry though. It hits me now that I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday. Martha has to stop me before I choked.

Sheesh, kid. Good thing we met up. You look half starved.

I ran out of food yesterday. I was going out to scavenge some, if any, when I heard you scream.

So you gave up looking for food to help me? Huh. She ruffles my hair. You’re a special kind of kid, you know that? Come on then. We’re almost to camp, and I’m sure everyone would love to meet you.

She fails to hear the You have no idea I murmur under my breath.

So what do you think? Martha yells, her eyes filled with pride.

It’s…it’s…wow. That’s all I can say. The place looks amazing.

Even after all that’s happened, the club looks in top-notch shape. Sure, there’s peeling paint and a broken window here and there, but still it looks relatively good.

And the field. The amount of time it must’ve taken these people to fortify this place. The whole golf course is surrounded by barriers, from fences to barbed wires to staves.

People are all over the place, some working at the house. Others are scouting the perimeter. A few are running around the course.

I make a head count of around eleven men and nine women, counting Martha. There’s also four children: three girls and one boy. They’re easy to count since they’re running right at us.

Martha! they scream in unison. They all look so excited. I can’t imagine how much Martha means to them.

Hey guys! What have you been doing? Staying out of trouble?

They all nod. We were worried something happened, the boy says. He looks to be maybe six or seven, with near red hair and covered in freckles.

Now don’t be crazy, Martha says with a crazy grin. Irony at its finest. Ain’t nothing gonna happen to Aunt Martha. Not while I got you guys to protect.

Who’s this guy?

I jump as one of the girls ask, somehow next to me while making no prior noise.

Guys, this is Griffon. Griffon, this is Adrien, Brianne, Violet, and Faith.

Brianne is the girl next to me. She looks to be around twelve, with near silver hair, very tall with a thin frame. Violet is a dark-skinned girl with curled brown hair and streaks of, predictably, purple. She’s also wearing purple slacks, violet-blue shoes, and a bright-purple T-shirt with neon-green print that reads Royalty. Makes sense. She seems pretty small, around the same size as Faith. Faith has chestnut hair with hints of amber tied up under a bright-pink ribbon. She’s wearing a faded gray sundress/apron combo with simple dusty-pink strap shoes.

You guys eat breakfast yet? I’m starved! Martha exclaims. All the kids turn to her, looking excited.

Martha starts heading to the house, with Brianne and Adrien close behind. Violet and Faith stay behind, eyeing me down.

Um, hi? I say, slightly uncomfortable.

Hi! Faith exclaims. I’m Faith, and this is Violet!

He already knows our names, dumbo. Martha just told him, Violet says in an annoyed tone.

Oh, right! Sheesh, Vi, you don’t have to be so mean about it.

Well, maybe you should start listening more.

When did you become my mom?

Since I’ve been older than you, which is always.

"And yet you’re still as small as me."

Oh, you—

So! How old are you two? I ask, trying to stop the fighting.

I’m ten, and Faith is eight. I’m a bit small for my age.

I’ll say, Faith mocks.

Would you—

Where are your parents? I interrupt again. These two are going to be the end of me already.

Violet’s dad is inside helping with breakfast, Faith explains. I don’t have any family in the group.

Where are your parents? I realize my mistake when I see Violet making the zipped-lips signal.

They…died. Back at the beginning. I don’t really remember them. I never saw it, but…

Faith trails off, tears pouring down her face. Not sobbing, but she doesn’t show signs of stopping. Violet is hugging her and leaning her on her shoulder, trying to calm her down. I kneel down in front of her.

It’s okay, Faith, I understand. I lost my family when I was very young. I don’t remember them, but it still hurts. If you ever need someone to talk to, I can try to help.

I place my hand on her shoulder. She looks at me with the saddest eyes, and then her eyes seem to brighten. I wipe the tears off her eyes, and besides a few snivels, she seems to have composed herself. Violet is looking at me and Faith like we just fused together.

I stand back up. Now come on. I heard something about breakfast, and I’m starved.

Chapter 4

Meet and Greet

Violet

Who is this guy, and where has he been the last three years?

No, seriously, why did he wait three years to pop up and help Faith? We’ve been in big need of it.

Faith’s always had this problem. When the Phantoms started popping up, she was attacked at her school. She has absolutely no idea what happened to her parents, but I know she pieced together her own theory. We’ve been trying to find a way to calm her down easily, but nothing seemed to work. My record is two hours and sixteen minutes.

Then this guy shows up, taps her on the shoulder, gives her a short pep talk, and she’s up and running again in no time! I’m not mad. Now Faith has some help, but it seems a little fishy that that was all it takes.

Let’s just hope the others think he’s cool. We don’t really get a lot of visitors, and I’m pretty sure they won’t have the most open arms.

We’re coming up on the clubhouse now, so Griffon better make a good first impression.

Griffon

My stomach is in about eight-thousand knots right now.

I have no idea who these people are, what their intentions are, how friendly they are, and another two dozen factors I can’t think of right now.

Faith gives my hand a squeeze. Don’t worry, she says. Everyone will love you.

She looks at Violet, who takes my other hand, a bit reluctantly I notice. Yeah, we got your back.

I start to calm down. If these girls trust me, the others should to…right?

We arrive at the dining area. Counting me, Faith, and Violet, there are about twenty people standing around. All conversations go quiet when I approach. They are all staring at me, and I feel like passing out.

Martha breaks the silence. Hey, Griffon! She is still incredibly energetic. Guys, this is the kid I met in the city. Griffon, this is my group.

Taking a quick scan, the first thing I notice is the variety of people. They aren’t just some tough gang of hard-core survivors. They have young kids all the way to elders. One person, a dark-skinned man in his midthirties, is in a wheelchair. These people aren’t survivalist nuts, though the mood Martha gives has a strong feel they would be.

Finally someone speaks. Hello, Griffon. It’s the man in the wheelchair. I am Azizi. It’s nice to meet you. Azizi has a broad build and is wearing a black military coat with cargo pants and combat boots. This guy was in the army. Martha was telling us about your wild adventure with her in the city.

Oh, right! So, Griffon took his spear and tore through eight Phantoms at once. They didn’t stand a chance! It was like he just poked them, and they went down.

I give Martha a stern look. "That did not happen. I distracted the Phantoms with a car horn while me and Martha ran to safety."

I knew you were full of shit! a lady yells from her table. She’s wearing a faded green sundress with a large sun hat and ankle boots. She has long red hair and looks to be in her early thirties.

Pamela, please! There are children present! a man looking in his later thirties next to her says, obviously embarrassed. He’s wearing suspender overalls with dress shoes and a white shirt. All he’s missing is a red bow tie, and he would look like a ’50s barber. He has short red hair and freckles scattered across his face. I’m guessing they’re Adrien’s parents.

Don’t downplay yourself, kid. You were amazing out there! Well, up until you nearly missed the turn on the highway, but that’s a small mistake.

I feel myself blush. It feels good to get a compliment. They’re rare for me even before the outbreak.

So how long have you been out in the city? a Hispanic man near the table with food asks. He’s in his midtwenties and has short matted brown hair along with a short beard all over his jaw. He’s decked out in fireman gear minus the helmet.

I’ve been in the city ever since this started. I’m honestly surprised we haven’t crossed paths till yesterday.

He shrugs. We came here around six months ago. We got tired of moving around so much and decided to try and settle for a while. He takes a seat with a full plate. My name is Gabe, by the way. Gabriel Diaz.

Nice to meet you. At that moment, my stomach decides to growl as loudly as possible. My face heats up, this time from embarrassment.

You sound hungry, Martha says, handing me a plate. Come on, grab something to eat.

Faith

Griffon seems to be really happy.

That makes me happy. He says it was just him in the city, so he must have been lonely. He’s been talking to Martha and Azizi. I hope he stays; he seems like it would make everyone happy. It’s been so long since we’ve seen someone new. Probably a year, if I have to guess. When we moved into the country club, we had about thirty people with us. Five of us have died so far.

Daniel, Abby, Linda, Martin, Gwen. Gwen’s death really hit the group hard. She was an infant, born after the outbreak. She was maybe two months old when she died. From what I’ve heard the adults say, she had some sort of health problem when she was born. Without real doctors or hospitals, she couldn’t have made it.

That was only two weeks ago. Everyone has been so quiet, so upset. They think me and the other kids don’t really get it, but we understand a lot more than they think. I think Griffon really can help the group though. Maybe he can calm them down like he did with me earlier.

That was really strange. It was like my sadness just…disappeared. Like I suddenly didn’t feel like crying, like he has magic powers and changed my emotions.

The perimeter guards are coming back for breakfast. We have four guards that circle the fence and check for Phantoms. There’s Enrique. All I know about him is that he’s a tall, buff guy from Cuba. Then there’s the Murray twins. I don’t even know their first names. All I know is they’re identical twin girls who look like they’ve been fighting to live even before the outbreak. I heard a rumor they were part of something called a fight club, whatever that is.

Finally there’s Violet’s dad, Vincent. Vincent is a very tall, skinny man with dark skin like Violet’s. He’s around forty something, I think. He’s starting to get gray streaks in his usual black hair and those eye wrinkles old people get. Oh, and he also has the darkest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Even darker than Violet’s

Violet’s mom left her and her dad when Violet was born. Violet says her dad told her about her mom when she was six. Apparently, Violet’s mom was very mean to her dad after they married. She would make him stay home and away from his friends and family and would threaten him and say he was horrible and just be a big bully to him. Violet explained to me that it’s called domestic abuse.

When Violet was born, her dad decided enough was enough. He didn’t want her to go through the same things he did. He wanted the mom arrested for the things she did. At least that’s what I think he was doing. I don’t know a lot when it comes to criminals and lawbreaking.

Anyway, there was a whole court case, and Violet’s dad managed to beat her mom and got to keep Violet. I don’t think Violet’s mom was arrested, but there was something called a restraining order made that meant she would go to jail if she got too close to Violet and her dad.

Violet used to live in North Carolina. She said her mom moved out of state after the case. She lived in a one-floor home in a town called Clayton. She said she had an orange tree in her backyard,