Beyond The Infection

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long, eerie shadows across the camp. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it a strange stillness that put everyone on edge. Leader pointed at Martha and Travis, his voice cold and commanding.

"You two go next," he ordered, his eyes scanning them both with an unsettling intensity. "You seem closer than anyone else here."

Martha tightened her grip on Travis's hand. "Let's go, Booger," she whispered, her voice shaking with fear. Travis could feel her trembling beside him and instinctively drew her closer, trying to reassure her.

"It's going to be okay, Ma," Travis said, though he wasn't entirely sure. As they walked toward the main camp, where Janice had gone before them, Martha breathed a small sigh of relief when she saw more survivors. It wasn't just their group here. Maybe, just maybe, there was some hope in this place. But the sense of dread remained thick in the air.

The soldier at the camp's gate gave them the same spiel he had given Janice earlier. "This is where you'll stay," he said, barely looking at them. "Meals are served three times a day, lights out at seven. We run on solar power, so conserve energy. Stay safe and follow the rules."

Travis listened, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, something they weren't being told. Martha glanced around at the survivors – families huddled together, people walking aimlessly, their eyes vacant, almost as if their spirits had been drained. It was far from the safe haven they had hoped for.

"Booger, I've got a bad feeling," Martha whispered, her voice cracking. "Are we really going to be safe here?"

Travis turned to his mother, trying to hide the unease rising inside him. He hated seeing her this way—so vulnerable, so scared. "I don't know, Ma," he said softly. "But I'm going to find out. If this place isn't safe, we'll leave. I promise."

A cold shiver ran down his spine as they continued deeper into the camp. He could feel eyes on them—eyes filled with fear, suspicion, and something else. Desperation. Travis noticed a group of people huddled together near a fire pit, their hushed voices carrying on the wind.

"Strange things have been happening," an older man whispered to a woman beside him. "People go missing… and the soldiers don't say a damn thing about it. They just disappear."

"Disappearing?" Travis muttered under his breath. That wasn't something they could ignore.

As they moved toward the gathering, Janice came into view, her expression weary but relieved as she spotted them from afar. Before they could reach her, a young boy ran up to them, his face streaked with tears, his clothes dirty and torn. He couldn't have been older than ten.

"Have you seen my mom?" the boy whimpered, his small hands clutching the hem of Travis's shirt. His voice cracked with fear. "She—she went to the bathroom, but she never came back. It's been hours."

Travis knelt down in front of the child, his heart breaking for the little boy. "Hey there, young man," Travis said softly, trying to offer some comfort. "What's your name?"

"Christopher," the boy whispered, wiping his tear-streaked face.

"Alright, Christopher," Travis said, gently placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "When was the last time you saw your mom?"

"A few hours ago," Christopher said, his lower lip trembling. "She said she was going to the bathroom… but she never came back."

Martha knelt beside him, pulling the boy into a comforting embrace. "It's okay, baby," she cooed, rubbing his back. "My Booger here will find your mom. Don't you worry."

Christopher's sobs quieted a little as he looked up at Martha. "Will you really help me?"

Martha gave him a warm smile, though the worry in her eyes betrayed her true feelings. "Of course, honey. Travis is going to go look for her right now."

Travis stood, his mind racing. "Christopher, can you tell me what your mom looks like?" he asked.

The boy nodded, sniffling. "She's got blonde hair, and she was wearing a red jacket… and she has a bracelet with my name on it. She always wears it."

"Alright," Travis said, nodding. "You go with my mom and find Janice. I'm going to look for her, okay?"

Christopher nodded; his eyes wide with hope. Martha took his hand and started walking toward Janice while Travis turned in the opposite direction, toward where the boy said his mother had gone. His steps felt heavier with each passing moment, dread gnawing at his insides.

The camp wasn't huge, but it felt like a maze of tents and makeshift buildings, all draped in shadows as the evening settled in. The bathroom area wasn't far, but as Travis approached, something felt… wrong. The air was thick, almost stifling, and the smell—rotting flesh. He gagged, covering his nose with his sleeve.

"Jesus…" he muttered, his heart racing. The stench was overwhelming, like death itself hung in the air. Something was definitely not right.

He moved slowly, cautiously, scanning the area. No one else seemed to be around, which only made the silence more ominous. Then he saw it—blood. Just a small smear on the ground, leading to a nearby building. His stomach twisted.

Travis approached the building, his heart pounding in his chest. The door was locked, but there were faint sounds coming from inside—low, guttural groans, the kind he'd heard too many times before.

Zedheads?.

His blood ran cold. He glanced around, making sure no one was watching, and tried the door again. Locked. He leaned in closer, listening carefully. There was movement inside, slow and shuffling. The groans grew louder, more desperate.

"Shit," Travis whispered. There was no mistaking it. Whoever—or whatever—was in there, they were not human anymore.

He stepped back, his mind racing. Could Christopher's mom be in there? Had she already turned? The thought made him sick to his stomach. He had to find out. But just as he was about to try to force the door open, he heard footsteps behind him.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?" a soldier barked, grabbing Travis's arm and pulling him back.

Travis spun around, his heart leaping into his throat. The soldier's grip was tight, his eyes cold and unyielding.

"I—uh, I was just—"

"You're not supposed to be here," the soldier growled, cutting him off. "Get back to the main camp. Now."

"But—there's something in there," Travis protested, his voice shaking. "People are going missing, and—"

"That's none of your concern," the soldier snapped, his grip tightening. "Move. Now."

Travis hesitated for a moment, his mind screaming at him to push back, to find out what was really going on. But the soldier's cold stare left little room for argument. With a final glance at the locked door, Travis turned and walked away, his heart heavy with dread.

As he made his way back to the main camp, the smell of rot still lingered in the air, and the groans from behind the locked door echoed in his mind.

Something was very, very wrong here.

To Be Continued...