Survive
station with something playing on it. It was an emergency broadcast from what looked like a government facility. A podium with the presidential seal on the front of it stood in front of a purple-draped background. A black woman was speaking into the microphone.
    “ All government services are hereby suspended in most regions except the areas immediately surrounding selected military reserves. All citizens are urged to take every precaution. At this time, the CDC is working on a cure for the, ah, disease, and will have some progress to report very soon.
    All of our research indicates that when bitten by an infected person, an individual goes into a comatose state resembling death. There are no life signs at all in these individuals. Several minutes later, the individual revives, but still with no discernible life signs. The individual begins to decay, but still exhibits great mobility, and seems to be motivated only by hunger. Total immolation by fire, decapitation, or destruction or disruption of the brain seem to truly kill these individuals. All citizens are urged to remain in their homes until the government can reestablish control. Thank you.”
    The black woman walked off screen, leaving an empty podium. Moments later, the scene started over again.
    “It’s a recording. They’re looping it,” John said, turning to Douglas. “Sound like your money’s going back into your mutual funds anytime soon?”
    Douglas stared at the TV for a moment, then looked angrily at John. “You’re such an asshole! Just a fucking gun nut.”
    Tension began to mount between the two, but June stepped in. “Coffee anyone? I’ve got apple pie, too.”
    * * *
     
    Later that night, John sat at his father’s kitchen table. Harold, Patrick, Kurt, Roger, Truck, and Morgan all sat around the table too. Everyone else was watching a movie in the living room. Some Adam Sandler movie, from the sound of it, thought John.
    “Look, the fact of the matter is this stuff is going to get worse every day. It’s only been a couple of days since it started, and the government is all but gone, road travel is dangerous, and we’ve even got Zeds in Brattleboro. And it only takes one bite to kill you.” John said, looking around the table.
    “Zeds? What are you, Canadian?” asked Morgan.
    John rolled his eyes. “No, it just doesn’t sound as unreal as zombies, so maybe it’ll help people accept it faster.”
    “Oh okay, Mr. Canadian,” Morgan retorted.
    John threw a donut at Morgan, bouncing it off Morgan’s forehead. Everyone at the table chuckled a bit.
    Harold broke in. “Sounds kind of bleak.”
    “I know, Dad. But I have a few ideas that might help us out. First, we need supplies. Tomorrow, I want to take a few people into town and get whatever food we can from a grocery store. We’ll swing by Dan Bender’s house on the way back, maybe trade some of it for ammo, maybe a few more rifles. Whatever we can get.”
    “Sounds like a plan.” Patrick said, nodding.
    “Also, we should think about blocking off the entrances to the valley.”
    “What do you mean?” Harold asked his son.
    “Well, we could take a few of those cargo containers you and Patrick are using for storage sheds, drag them by tractor up in to each of the passes, and block them off. I spoke to the neighbors about it this morning, and they’re in. As long as we leave a tractor and a couple of ladders up there, anyone living can be brought in easily, but the Zeds can’t get through. They’d have to wander over the mountains and through the woods to get here.”
    “Yeah, we can do that. That sounds good.” Patrick said, smiling.
    “And that brings us to another question. The neighbors,” John paused. “The Culicos left this morning. They said they were going to head north. The Kensingtons said they were going to stick it out. Their son and his family got here a few hours ago. They’re going to be holding that end of the valley. I suggest we include them in any

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