We entered the outer limits of Highland Falls, a small village lying right at the bottom of the hill next to West Point. Just a mile north of that would be the military school itself, sitting on top of a large rock overlooking the Hudson River. We couldn't see it directly from our perspective as Logan steered the boat toward a small dock of some private residence, surrounded (and protected) by the deep woods. A big White House stood not far from the dock; It looked like nobody was home with an open boathouse.

Miguel, Alfie, and Felipe jumped off the boat and onto the wooden platform, quickly securing the line by the posts. I hopped out after them with my shotgun and the NYPD duffel bag sling around my shoulders.

"Are you sure nobody's home?" Miguel asked.

I pointed up to the sky. "Hear that?"

Miguel and Alfie looked up, listening. Alfie shook his head. "I don't hear 'em things, sir," he said. I detected a slight hint of a southern accent slipping through his words.

I smiled. "Exactly. No cars. No planes. Hell, not even the sound of civilization. We're pretty close to the suburbs based on what I saw back up on the deck, so we should be hearing people."

"Hiding, maybe?" Miguel suggested.

"Vectors?" Felipe chimed in.

"I don't hear them. Even when they're hiding from a corner, they still make those horrible little sounds. A horde of them would make a ruckus."

"A child might be nearby," Miguel said, shivering slightly. Alfie scrunched his face in confusion, and I realized he had not faced them yet.

"Let's hope not. But we still have to be careful and keep an eye out. Plus, the boathouse is empty. I think the owners bailed."

Or I hoped they did. This was the only riverfront property we could find along the river bank that would hide us from the rest of the village. I saw a dock half a mile down, but that was next to the railway station, closer to downtown, and I wasn't comfortable revealing the boat like that for everyone to see.

Vectors were predictable creatures, but humans were a different matter.

Luke was the next one down, followed by Yousef, Aria, Gabe, Margot, and Logan. Only a few of us carried weapons—me with the shotgun, Logan with the AR, and Miguel and Luke with the spares. We didn't have enough ammo left to prevent a direct horde attack between all four of us. We had to make every bullet count.

"Are we staying here?" Aria asked. I could tell that she was less enthused about the idea.

I shook my head. "I don't think that would be a good idea. Those things are only thirty miles away, give or take. We'll be safe to stay here overnight if we have to, but I'd rather we grab our supplies and leave as soon as possible."

"Forgive ma meaning, but you talkin' about sick people, right?" Alfie corrected, clearly uncomfortable that I seemed to regard them like animals. I realized he didn't have enough time to wrap his head around the severity of the situation.

Behind Alfie, I caught that Gabe Katinger had already accepted the situation faster than he did. He gave me a civil nod. Gabe and his family had no weapons or belongings to bring when they got on board, but he had Alfie's hatchet in his hand while Alfie used his second weapon, a spiked baseball bat.

I bit my lip and calmed my voice. "Alfie, they were people, yes, but not anymore. People don't bite and eat you. No matter how you rationalize this and believe me, it won't help; they cannot be reasoned with. They're gone."

Alfie stayed quiet, nodding. I had already told him where we came from once he got on the boat. Hopefully, that will be enough to fill in any gaps in our history with vectors.

I wished they wouldn't get here fast. I had studied the map back in the boat before our arrival, especially the satellite GPS. There were only two roads that connected the village to the highway, and both of them were hidden behind hills and a vast expanse of forests. The entire village was hidden from everything west, with the mountains, forests, the river, and hills hugging around its outer limits like a babe inside a cradle. The highway basically curved around the entire area as if it intentionally avoided going through it. Hopefully, the natural boundaries were enough to stave off the vectors from coming in for a day or two.

"What's next?" Logan asked.

"We find my dad's friend, and hopefully, Major Clemons can help us out with West Point and order a potential rescue." And the fact that the entire village looked deserted did not bode well for our mission. "Any more questions?" I asked around. No one did, and I sighed in relief. "Okay. Logan and I will check the interior. Miguel and Luke, you do the exterior and set up a perimeter. Yousef and Aria find gas in the boathouse. The owners might have left some. As for the rest, stay back in the boat. That means you too, Henry."

The little boy standing by the gunwale whined, "Aww, but—"

"No, buts."

Henry fidgeted and groaned out loud. "Fine."

I continued, "Felipe and Margot, take watch up on the sky deck: One facing the river and one of you to our direction. If you two see anything suspicious, use the handheld mirrors to reflect the sunlight. That will be our signal. That's where you come in, Gabe. You'll stay put in that back patio, and if you see the signal, holler us out of there. It's not perfect, but we'll work with what we got. Once everything is cleared, I'll signal the all-clear, and everyone can check out the house and bring what they can into the boat. Essentials only. Got it?"

Everyone nodded. I knew they had doubts about looting. We've done it on a school pantry before, but that was different. The school was a public building. This was a private residence, someone's home, and we were stealing from them. I tried to tell myself that we needed it more than they did. As far as I could tell, they were gone, and we were here.

—

It was a two-story mansion, built in colonial style, with large glass-paned windows, huge doors with everything all symmetrical—the same number of windows on each side, paired chimneys, pitched roof—standing like a massive shoe box. The backyard had a hot tub and a pool, a small greenhouse garden, and a raised open platform for barbecues and gatherings at the west end where the grill was. I could see money poured into every nook and cranny to build this place, and hopefully, they stocked their kitchen well enough that they left more for us.

I first reached the sliding glass door, putting my back against the wall next to the brass handle. Logan took the spot on the opposite side, flanking the entrance. Gabe followed, crouched down beside Logan. The glass was clear, but the house's interior was bathed in shadows, blocked by white see-through curtains, and it was hard for us to see what was inside. Out of the corner of my eye, Miguel and Luke headed east.

Logan and Gabe waited for my signal. I gave him a nod and clutched the door handle, testing if it was unlocked; The door slid an inch to the side. I gave Logan and Gabe another nod. I pushed the door further, a gap for a grown man to pass through. Cold air rushed out from the interior. I could feel that the AC was on.

I stepped inside—shotgun first—and found myself in an open dining room. For a colonial-style house, the interior was night and day to its exterior. The house held an open floor space, so there were not many walls dividing each section. I could see the living room, the kitchen, the dining room, and even the stairs leading up to the second floor from where I was standing. The walls were decorated in a modern style of neutral colors and materials. Nothing was antique. I took another step, and Logan followed after me. Gabe stayed by the door.

"Should we split up?" Logan whispered.

"No. We cover our backs. Move room to room on the second," I said.

"There are two doors on our nine."

I nodded. "After me."

There was nothing to check much on the first floor. Everything was laid out in the open. We quickly reached the door on the west side, flanking it. Logan opened the door and went in first, but it was only a car garage. There were the washer and dryer, a couple of shelves stood against the wall with mechanical tools and junk, and three cars—a BMW, a Jeep, and a land cruiser. Off to the side was a motorcycle. The keys and the spares dangled from four connected hooks next to the door. On the far side was a freezer. I opened it up to check for good measure, and all I saw was some opened ice cream gallons, frozen seafood, and grocery-bought red meats.

Jackpot!

We found the pantry on the second door.

It was a small room, barely the size of a broom closet, and most of the food was gone, or maybe it hadn't been fully stocked. There were a couple of small five-pound bags of brown rice that I saw, and a few dozen canned goods, some spices, but that was all I noticed before we stepped out. I wouldn't know how much we have until the others did an inventory.

There were still a lot of places to check before I gave out the all-clear. I spared a glance at the back door. So far, Gabe hadn't given the warning yet. We headed for the stairs.

I smelled rotten flesh when I landed on the third step. I quickly signaled to Logan to "Keep an eye out."

The second floor had seven doors; six were symmetrical on each side on the east and west--An open space by the south side and a balcony that overlooked the back patio. The last door was on the northern side by the front of the house.

I was hesitant to move forward; The smell was getting stronger. Suddenly, the confidence I had below slowly dissipated. With everything out in the open, it was easy to clear out the first floor. Up here, the doors seemed to be taunting me, as if they were gauging me to dare open the horrors waiting from behind.

"You okay?" Logan asked.

"Yeah. Just...getting my bearings."

I forced myself to move forward, starting with the door closest to the balcony on the west side. It was the only door that was half open, and Logan and I did our routine of flanking the door frame. He slowly pushed the door open. Gym equipment scattered the entire space, and there was a hint of some lavender air freshener wafting out of the entrance. There were no vectors. We closed the door shut after we checked it.

The same went for the other doors.

There were two bathrooms in the house, one of which was connected to two bedrooms. One room was from a little girl, complete with a dollhouse, stuffed Disney toys, and several posters about some cartoon show I did not recognize. The other was clearly from a teenage boy, down to the half-scattered laundry, video game consoles, action figures, posters of scantily-clad female models, and action movie posters. There was a guest room, which the second bathroom was connected to from the hallway and inside the room.

The smell of rot grew stronger behind the last door.

I tried the doorknob; it was unlocked. Pushing enough courage on my hand, I twisted the knob, the door latch clicking, and opened the door wider without a single creak into the master bedroom.

A man hanging from the ceiling fan.

"Oh, Jesus!" Logan exclaimed.

I couldn't look away.

It was ghastly, flesh bluish and purple, and I screamed in my head to peer my eyes away, to the window and stare out at the beautiful sky and the evergreen trees, to the perfectly plush rose-colored quilts on the mattress.

The man wore an army service uniform, dark blue beret, matching the color for the coat and pants, and a black tie. Based on the medals pinned on him, and I could distinctly tell the Purple Heart and the Silver Star for valor among half a dozen carefully placed in a neat row on his left breast.

My heart skipped a beat. I thought for sure this must be Major Clemons, but I remembered that his house was nowhere near the river. Major Clemons was a lot younger than the dead man in front of me. He was older, maybe in his late seventies, with a full head of white hair and a clean-shaven face. Major Clemons was proud of his copper-red hair, and he was the same age as my father, almost pushing to his forties with a hardened angular face and a prominent scar crossing his right eye, practically making him half-blind.

None of that I saw on the dead man. He still had both his eyes intact.

"Is that...?"

"No. That's not him," I said.

Dried blood pooled down from the man's left leg, dark and viscous. Logan stepped forward and, using the rifle's muzzle, raised the hem of the pants a little higher, revealing a vector bite.

"Shit," Logan said under his breath. "Poor bastard must have known he'll turn, so he offed himself."

I looked at the man's face. He couldn't have been dead for a day or two. Did the vectors reach this far? Alfie mentioned that the outbreak in his town came well past midnight, technically today, around two in the morning. But we didn't see any fires or smoke billowing out from the village proper. Everything was eerily quiet.

I took another step, keeping my weapon as close and level as possible. I quickly mapped out the layout of the room. There was another sliding door that led out to a balcony overlooking the front yard. To my left was the closet, the door to my right was the master bathroom. I swiftly moved toward the closet, slid it open, and checked inside. Nothing there. After we checked the bathroom and found it empty, we finally relaxed.

There were a couple of dressers against the eastern wall, and on top of it were picture frames of the hanging man's life. There he was in his military uniform, handsome and smiling in his twenties; The picture looked like it was taken in the sixties. Then, there were him and his wife, proudly displaying their five grown children (and their partners) around them—it seemed—and then a dozen or so little grandchildren. When my eyes drifted to a family photo of the brood standing on the back patio with the house in the background, I let out a whistle. The family had undoubtedly been busy.

There, I found the suicide note.

Malorie,

I have done what I can to keep Sally and our grandchildren safe. I sent them on a boat to Albany with two soldiers I trusted wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, I was not so lucky. All that matters is that I got them out of that cursed city before our president makes the greatest failure in American history, and I refuse to be the reason why our daughter and her children are dead. I have seen evil, my love, and I will not be a part of it.

Forgive me, Malorie. Know that I did not die a coward even if you see me in such a sorry state. I had imagined I would die next to you, gray and old, but you will have to face this world alone from now on, my love. Once this is over, and if you survive and return to this beautiful home we've built together, know that I will always be with you.

Your loving husband,

Roger

"He got bit in the city," I told Logan.

"Which city?"

"New York."

"He got out?" Logan asked incredulously, looking at the man with a mild hint of respect.

"It seemed like he rescued his daughter and grandchildren from there and got bit along the way."

"Wow. Tough son-of-a-bitch. Too bad he didn't make it."

"At least we are on the right track. Albany's a major safe zone. He sent his daughter and his grandchildren there, escorted by soldiers."

I looked at the dead man's—Roger's—uniform, dazzled in military ribbons, matching the entire decor of the bedroom, which was also adorned with dozens of trophies of varied sizes and golden-inlaid plaques. I had no clue where this Malorie must be, hopefully far away from here, and for him to address the president in such a way before the bombs dropped told me he must be close to his close council. I studied his face, but I didn't recognize him. He must have used his position to pass through the quarantine zone and rescued his family. The mere thought of it pulled something in my stomach. How many more were like him who had made it out to safety because, or who were lucky enough to have the right connections?

I turned away from the hanging body.

I looked out of the glass balcony door and found that the front yard wasn't a yard. It was a long, narrow driveway that stretched to about a quarter of a mile, ending on a wrought-iron gate on one end and a semicircular drive by the front porch; Trimmed and slender conifers lined the long driveway.

Scattered all over the entire front yard were hundreds of leaflets, but I was too far away to read what was written. I saw Luke picked up one off of a rose bush and handed it to Miguel. It was time to signal the all-clear.

"Cut the man down, Logan," I said, growing sick at looking at the man's pale and bloated face already. "We'll bury him."

—

We buried Roger on a shallow grave in the span of an hour. I thought it was the most respectful thing to do. As the others arrived in the house, Luke gave me one of the leaflets he picked up, which we realized had been deliberately scattered across the entire area.

It said:

(In an emergency — Lockdown: Lights, Locks, Out of sight)

Anyone who does not comply with the order is a crime.

Only bring essential belongings.

Keep your distance!

Magic Number: Six Feet Apart!

Remember: If you see it, report it.

Register at the following sites below.

The list was of a dozen cities and towns promising a secured and highly-militarized safe zone, but the nearest city we could reach was Albany. The rest were around the southern reaches across the Northeast, and we couldn't travel that far, much less chance with the north.

The back of the leaflet was a large map of the northeastern seaboard, with New England all colored in dark red—three bolded and caps-locked words: . Around it was a light-colored sky blue region of the rest of the United States and Canada, broken by an inch-thick line that acted as the zone's border, separating us from the rest of the country. Scattered around this border were inked drawings of tanks and toy soldiers, signifying a heavy military presence. The Canadian border had large violet-colored arrows drawn inward (toward No Man's Land), which I assumed meant that the Canadians had joined the United States to contain the disease (and maybe other countries). Most of the safe zones listed were inside the borders.

"Oh, man! They have an espresso machine! Who wants a cup?" Yousef exclaimed, bringing out a bag of some high-end brand of espresso grounds from the cupboard. Almost everyone raised their hands.

I did, too. Coffee sounded so good right about now. More than a week without coffee was torture.

"Thanks," I said to him.

"So, who's gonna be the one going to this Major Clemons dude?" Yousef asked.

"That's going to be me," I said. I took a sip of the coffee, and I groaned inward, letting the bitter taste danced around my taste buds. "I know where he lives."

"We can all split up. One goes to West Point; one goes to Major Clemons," Miguel suggested.

"Well, I feel uncomfortable breaking us up. Those vectors are heading our way, so we need this done today. Sunset is at seven-forty. That gives us more than seven hours of daylight. At least there are cars in the garage. We don't all have to walk."

"So we'll break off into groups then," Miguel said. "At least two or three in each. Faster that way."