"Reports indicate that a fungal pathogen designated 'Cordyceps Brain Infection' or 'CBI' is spreading rapidly across the globe. Southern regions have fallen completely, with eastern and western zones now experiencing mass outbreaks..."
"The World Health Organization, in conjunction with international medical teams, is working around the clock to combat CBI. A vaccine is expected within the year..."
"The government has established the Federal Disaster Response Agency, equipped with newly developed infection scanners. They will make every effort to rescue citizens trapped in infected zones. All individuals flagged by scanners will be quarantined..."
"Protests have erupted in cities nationwide. Demonstrators condemn the government's quarantine policies, demanding democracy and freedom..."
Bryan sat on the couch, cycling through radio frequencies with his left hand while his right scribbled notes on everything he heard.
A full week had passed since the outbreak.
A full week since he and Sarah had arrived at the lakeside house.
Joel and Tommy had never appeared.
Once Sarah's leg had healed enough, they'd searched every inch of the area around the bridge. They'd retraced their path back to where they'd separated. Nothing. Not a trace.
Gradually, they'd accepted reality. The people they were looking for might never be found.
"Barton, be careful!"
"Haha, catch, Sarah!"
Laughter drifted in from outside. Bryan set down his pen, closed his notebook, and walked to the doorway.
The signal fire hadn't brought Joel or Tommy.
It had attracted two other survivor families.
Three figures chased each other across the lawn, kicking a soccer ball back and forth.
By the lake, a cookfire burned beneath a hanging pot. Fragrant steam rose as two women tended to their catch. Even from here, Bryan could smell the fish.
Around the house's perimeter, a middle-aged white man was sharpening wooden stakes and driving them into pre-dug holes to form a defensive fence. Nearby, a Black man stood watch on the storage shed roof, pistol in hand, scanning the surroundings. The two chatted idly as they worked.
The white man was Kenneth. He'd arrived the day after the signal fire with his wife Cassie and their ten-year-old daughter Angela.
The Black man was Tyler. He and his wife Yvette had stumbled upon the house while fleeing infected. Their son Barton was the boy playing on the lawn.
More people meant more mouths to feed. Fortunately, the lake provided fish, and supply runs into town had kept them going.
Bryan watched Sarah playing with Barton and Angela. Having other kids around had pulled her out of the grief spiral that had threatened to consume her.
Then he leaned against the doorframe and let his mind wander to their next move.
Everything here seemed peaceful enough. But with no sign of the people they'd been searching for, Bryan had no reason to stay. And he definitely didn't want to remain in this dangerous area indefinitely.
Especially not with the changes he'd been noticing in the infected.
Some of them had begun developing strange red-and-white growths on their heads. The radio broadcasts called them fungal spores—the pathogen consuming its host to produce new growth.
He'd seen one infected whose head was almost entirely consumed by the fungus. The mutations were disturbing. They suggested the possibility of... evolution.
Another reason to leave.
He had two options.
First: Dallas. Find Armand. The old man's address was still in his pocket. But there was no guarantee of welcome. Dallas was a disaster zone too. Even if Armand wanted to help, would his daughter and son-in-law agree to take in two strange kids?
Second: Washington. Find his parents—or rather, this body's parents. Bryan had been avoiding this option. Stealing someone's son's identity made facing them deeply uncomfortable. But it was objectively the better choice.
The only problem was the distance. Washington was nearly 1,200 miles away.
One step at a time, I guess.
"What are you thinking about?"
Sarah's voice startled him. She'd appeared at his side without him noticing, studying him with concern.
"You've been spacing out a lot lately. Is something wrong?"
Bryan was quiet for a moment. Then he walked to the porch steps and patted the space beside him.
Once she sat down, he checked that no one was within earshot.
"I'm planning to leave."
To his surprise, Sarah didn't react with shock. Her expression remained calm.
"Okay. When do we go?"
"You knew?"
"Mm-hmm." Sarah nodded. "I noticed you've been following the news constantly. And you've been quietly stockpiling portable food. I figured you'd leave sooner or later."
Bryan raised an eyebrow, impressed. He leaned back against the porch column and took her hand.
"You want to come with me?"
"Of course. Wherever you go, I go."
...
That night, everyone gathered around the cookpot for fish stew. Bryan stood and announced that he and Sarah would be leaving.
"Why?" Tyler looked genuinely confused. "We've got a good thing going here. It's chaos out there. Even if you make it to a city, you think it'll be better than this? At least here, if we stay quiet, the infected leave us alone."
"Tyler, let it go." Kenneth spoke up, his tone magnanimous. "They need to find their family. We should respect that."
Unlike Tyler, Kenneth was delighted to see them go. He'd always considered the two kids dead weight—consuming resources without contributing. And he still resented Bryan for refusing to hand over the assault rifle.
Good riddance. Already, wheels were turning in his head.
Tyler caught the undercurrent but said nothing. Truthfully, he agreed with Kenneth's assessment. After a moment's hesitation, he asked:
"When are you leaving? Do you know where you're going?"
"We'll head into town tomorrow to gather supplies, spend the night there, then leave the following morning. As for where..." Bryan pretended not to notice the calculations playing across both men's faces. "Probably Dallas."
Kenneth's eyes lit up at the mention of spending a night in town. He sat up straight, putting on a show of camaraderie.
"You two kids going into town alone? That's dangerous. Tell you what—I'll come with you tomorrow. See you off safely before I head back."
Bryan gave him a knowing look but didn't refuse.
"Thanks, Uncle Kenneth."
He glanced at Angela and Barton, who were crowded around Sarah expressing their sadness at her leaving. Then he picked up his bowl of stew.
"Let's eat before it gets cold."
Everyone fell silent, focused on their food. Cassie and Yvette hadn't said a word throughout—they were used to following their husbands' leads. Besides, two fewer mouths to feed wasn't exactly a tragedy.