We could be nowhere.

Excitement was reduced to a hushed silence. Frigid static. The air felt lifeless. Skin crawled and goosed. The dryness of the autumn morning fog swept across, in between a circling of corn fields. View was diminished. You could only see ten or so feet from the boarded window. This made it difficult when the question of escape began the day.

“They can still be out there.” A voice gave out. A soft whisper, from the older woman nervously caressing the rough wooden table.

“We all know they are. What’s the point? Why would we move? What’s the use-“ The competing voice, deeper and damaged, coming from the man who sat next to her. His hands palming one another.

Conversation was spooked between exterior thuds. A slow trekking of high-powered stomps that grew closer as the sun rose. Bullying pinned paintings to jump from their nails. Shaking stacked plates to dance to their shelves edge. Even residual dust forms the light fixture sprinkled down. The wooden cabin like walls creek under the stress. The group shakes the paranoia, waiting for the thuds to subside. Closely, faintly, they could hear the monstrous gurgle of a laboring mutant respired. The towering bipedal beast swarms the reinforced house like a mote. Its arm swinging past the second story guarded windows. Calf flex by the ground level view.

“Look. Just look what’s out there!” A quiet yell boasting from the woman pitched on the second-floor loft. She debates down. “And you want to leave!?”

The middle-aged man, Luke, takes a moment to readjust himself. Leaning against the cluttered cabinetry. Tied by the reply.

“We get out, they come in. Simple.” Luke divulges.

Within the survivors’ house, between Derek and Francis, her child Ralph lifts his head from his arm pillows. Adding another questionable look to the stream of facial objections.

“Let me explain.” A handout, palm down, a gesture to rest their minds easily after as he conjures the reasoning. But instead, with a new approach, he continues confidently. “Craine, how would you trick a monster?”

“This is how you expect to cage a beast?” Her sour face shines from the incoming spatial sun rays. A raised eyebrow, her finger pointing in the circling of the giant outside wanderer. Derek adds to the humility,

“Got any king-sized snacks?” Elbowing Ralph with a snicker.

“With a monster.” Luke presses quickly into the fit of giggles. The room fumbles to a cold silence. With cocked heads Francis begins to speak. Losing her comment as her erected finger falls from being raised. Luke walks closer to the table, circling it. Craine climbs down from the loft, joining the table. “We have a break of time between dusk and sundown. I’ve been plotting their migration before their fearful slumber. The window is about 18 minutes. We can get to the outskirts of this farm town in that amount of time.”

“And what about the interstate? Do you think these are just the farm variation? What if big ol boy has brothers guarding the mix masters or better yet-“ Craine digs in with sarcasm. Expressing with her arms.

Big risk big reward. Remember that when you found us this strong hold at the beginning of spring?!” Luke pounds the table, warding the hilarity. Antagonizing the beast outside to thud and thunder. “We don’t have the lumber for a winter. We don’t have the stash of food, or water, or replaceable parts for the solar boiler, panels, circuit box. The radios are down, we don’t have any towers we can hack within the towns limit. Forget a line in general, it’s us and that’s it and that’s what it will be until we start dropping like flies and I will be damned if I perish cowering in a cabin. I’ll take a chance at a better circumstance and risk it all in the process. What else do we have to lose?”

Francis grasps the extent of her son’s dingy old sleeve. Pulling his hand in between er caressing palms.

Luke looks over in a waft of shame. Briefly he neglects the family structure present. Something he lacked, a unit as a growing boy. He takes little time to consider emotions. His motto is strategic, and execution driven. But in his middle ages, reality wears on him. Showing him there’s more than just himself in this war.

“So, we run at night?” Derek lingers from the head of the table.

“Tonight.” Luke connects with assurance backing his intentions. Derek wobbles his head in a silence agreement.

“How would we get away? That’s like staring into the light.” Craine lobbies the question.

“Not if we torch the house. Make another source of light. One which would call for their attention. And-“ Luke begins to answer.

“Then good morning Amonsterca!” Craine finishes in excitement. Her outburst brings a crack of smiles into the seriousness. “Get it? Because it’ll be like a sun-“ She clears her throat in slight embarrassment. “Good idea, good idea. But! How?”

“Derek,” The old man’s attention spins towards Luke. “can you reroute the power to the basement machinery?”

“Damn right I can.” The smokers voice replies. “All of it?” The question dangles. Luke seems to skip over the inquiry.

“Francis can you still work lathe?”

“You know,” as she extends her shaking hands, it grows steadier. One eye focuses, the other closed, as if aiming down a barrel. “you never really lose your craft. What do you need me to make?”

Another question ducked by Luke. With every name call out Luke wanders within his head.

“Craine, can you get the old truck running?”

“Can you get me into the garage with power?”

“I can. The young boy offers himself instantly. Breaking all of their attention towards him. I programmed a recorder with adjustable bpm to a deep bass speaker box on a low wattage portable battery. It can be used as a musical distraction box. As for power, all I need is old 0-gauge wire, electrical tape, a solder gun and some crimps.”

Luke's face brightens with a devil’s smirk.

“Francis, I need hollow cylinders with fire aggravating breathing ports. One for every ten feet. We will line the house with sufficient fire starters. Derek, cut into the walls, reroute the power, give the kid the sub wall cables, push power to only two GFI’s. one for you and Francis and then Ralph and Craine. Also, we’re going to need some fire power. Can you scrap together some buck shots and maggy rounds?” The seated party nods after their instructions.

“And you’ll doing what as the old timers are in a bunker of a basement and me and the kid are sneaking past rotted humans and yeah, a fucking giant to make a bunch of alluring noises outside of this safehouse!?” Craine interrupts.

“Making sure we don’t die on the road.” The room falls to a dead stop. “I still got a trick or two up my sleeve. Derek, do we have any bullets?”

“Only enough for a single clip.”

“Give it to the kid.” Francis scorns this idea, fumbling over words of objection. Luke settles her before she can speak object. “You want your son to see tonight right? Then he will take the revolver.”

Francis slowly sits slowly after her abrupt stance. The heavy leather holster scraps the table as its slide over.

“Just like we practiced kid. Hammer back, elbows straight, pull easy.”

Ralph nods, hesitant to pick up the piece, the pistol lays in front of him.

“For now, disband. Let’s get the hell out of here!”

Maneuvering around each other each member exercises their degree of talent. The group begins by using the noisy circling stomps of the mutant to pry the wooden wall panels. Exposing divots of fiberglass insulation and hidden wires. Lights flicker as power is redirected to a basement workshop. Ralph lays yards of bare, freshly cut wires into a circling length of manufactured heavy wattage cables. Derek and Francis access the shop by a coupling of faux floor hatch. Derek disassembles cabinetry, unlocking hidden safe boxes, dusting tubes filled with rolled parchment. A blueprint of the house and a county wide map from the previous owners. This he spreads across the table, side by side. Circling fire activation points on the blue paper, drawing lines for an escape route on the colorful atlas.

Craine and Ralph climb to the hollow cupola from the second-floor loft. A sealed hatch grants them latter entrance. Scanning their surroundings, they plot on which zip line to send the sounds box down. As the box let’s off its deep rumble, the surrounding wanderers halt, sniffing the air, their completely white eyes scanning the skies. The giant topples smaller beings as it searches for the sound. They release the barely secured black box on the side of the property furthest away from the garage. The crowd races.

“How long do we have on that battery?” She questions Ralph as she secures his chest harness.

“I’m- not really sure.”

“What?!”

“I never ran a strain test.”

“Kid!-“ She pouts, pushing him down the line, clamping her own chest harness to descend. They both land in a ruffling of corn stalks. As they emerge to the side of the decerped garage. A length of thick wire in Carine’s hand. “If we get overran it’s your fault!” She whispers as they creep into the garage by the rusted back door. “You better be a good shot too.”

As she juices up a giant battery reserve. Attaching all of the necessary power tools, lights, car lift and sound deadening in wall speakers, she taken back when one: the GIF trips, leaving her powerless and two: the distant deep thumb subsides.

“Shit!” Craine spews.

In a motion of quick panic, she ditches the tool she wields, reaching the decline of speaker wine. She has to hide from plain sight, causing as little noise as she can. Tucked by the SUV’s grill, right between it and the garage door, she searches with her eyes. Listening to the light tremble of odd pounding.

She crawls around the SUV, flagging Ralph, pulling him down as he creeps closer. “I thought we had more time than that?!”

“They-“ He stumbles over his words. Jerked to a crawl he continues. “they must have disconnected it. Maybe they just mauled it?” He smiles unsure.

“What can we do now?! We got no power and no distraction!”

“You should be quieter then, right?”

“Don’t mock me kid. There’s a wandering of brainless freaks. What do we do now?!”

Beyond Ralphs shoulder she spots a tucked red machine. The old ride behind lawn mower. As Ralph rambles solutions she zones into a manifestation of options. Constructing ways to solve their immediate problem.

“I got it!” She bellows. “Oops. I mean,” She whispers, “I got it.” With a twirling finger se encourages Ralph to make his way to the sheet covered machine.

“A mower?”

“To distract from noise, make more noise.”

The moment between them grows fearful in his eyes when he realizes-

“And you want me to ride this helicopter of a death trap in a sea of moldy people?!”

“You’re the only one here with a gun genius. Of course, it’s going to be you.”

Ralph pans from the sheet, lifting it lightly, to Carine’s wicked grin.

“If I die, my mother will kill you.” He exhales deeply. “How long do you need?”

Within the chambered basement Derek and Francis work autonomously. Cluttering a middle table with two woven baskets. One filled to the brim with fire priming tubes and the other weighted with makeshift shotgun shells and revolver ammo. The pile only lines the basket. They both tower over the finished works. Half disappointed in the outcome.

Luke scavenges. Pulling necessities to the open floor plan. With the table shoved into the corner, he guts the kitchen of its cabinets. Placing vital items within boxes, bags, pillow sacks and trash bins. Between packing he rambles under his breathe, racing back to the corner ridden table to pencil down mock plans within a bursting notepad ridded with dog ear pages, stick notes, literary cut puts and flash cards. As he taps his lip with a pen, analyzing the properties blueprint, e notices noticeable notches punched into the blue paper. These are more than just coincident. They are in line with power lines. Each square punch sits on the middle wall of every one of the surrounding four walls. With the paneled walls removed, the height of the day gone, he slugs to equip long gloves, an apron, and goggles. Digging behind the fiberglass insulation to reveal Block boxes. Four, in differing sizes from small to cubed to wide, rectangular, and tall. The last one measuring stood to his chest height. In awe and confusion, he caresses the solid structures when a muffling of ascending steps turns into Derek and Francis hauling baskets up the basement stairs. The hatch actioning open. He’s fount puzzle on the floor.

“Luke?” Francis jumps at an outward sound. An attempted engine turns over. the kick back explosions antagonizing the stampede of mutants wandering the ground. Thy hear the bangs of the big footed one snarl as he searches for the sound.

“Craine.” Ralph says helplessly. His gun dangling from his hip. Padded in full armor, a biker’s helmet, cranking the lawnmowers choke he begins to scream as he looks around to see the incoming beasts stumbling their way. “Crine!”

The flooding of the engine quiets its backfire. With beading sweat running from her cheek, plummeting to the ground, dashes back into the garage to find a can of carburetor spray. As she fumbles back to the law mover, she kicks its airway intake panel clean off. Spilling streams of fluid from the filter to the manifold she tosses the can. Yanking with a might that breaks the string. The firing engine snaps forward. Sending Ralph on a over boosted tri around the manor grounds. She tucks back into the garage. Sealing the door. Heavy breathed, she folds with her back on the door.

With a twitching ear Luke seeks the side of the house the revolving noise is coming from. Earth quaking steps begin to chase said engine pop. Racing from window to window he strains to quickly focus out of the peeks of boards. Derek joins him.

“Oh shit.” His deep voice bubbling, drawing alert out of Francis.

“Oh shit what?!” She peels him from the window, replacing him. “My baby!” She shouts with the sun blowing yellowing light on the field.

Derek rips the lid off of a couple boxes, opening bags and pillowcases, looking for a red bundle. Once tucked under his arm he climbs past the loft to the copula.

“Hey!”

The soft voice just making through the ramble of outsides sounds. With the noise canceling speakers within the garage deactivated she heard the yell for attention through the wall’s cracks. In the instant, listening harder and harder, she removes her head from her lap. Hoisting herself to a stand, she peaks through the garage doors windows. Noticing the double arm wave from Luke she charges out of the side door to meet him where she could barely be seen. Tucked half within standing bushes. She uses the reflecting screen of her watch to catch Luke’s attention.

Ralph weaves in and out of corn passages. Maneuvering the follow crowd, dodging the incoming rotten flesh sacks. The only thing on his mind is getting to that bass box. But, from the grounds level, he becomes confused on its location while facing a never-ending sea of mutants. He finds himself exiting the field near the garage.

“No no! Wrong side!” He thinks. Breaking the mowers front wheels in the soft earth. A destabilizing wabbling. The move made a clear gap to the other side of the house. Where the dropping zipline clearly touches the earth. He powers forward, the machine begins to hop, becoming airborne like a boat crashing against waves. Ralph is vaulted, sent rolling into the grounded leg of the back porch. Winded by the impact he groans, attempting to inhale. The pistol at an arm reaches away. The crowd of the lifeless flood in. Breaking with pain he slaps the ground, inch by inch, extending an arm closer and closer to the wooden grip. The stuck mower stuck in a high idle rev. Making him invisible. As he grips the gun, he rolls under the porch through the broken fence liner.

Like and Derek heave as Francis extends an embrace, anticipating Craine as she’s pulled up the zipline into the copula.

“Oh my god are you okay! What were you two thinking!” Francis checks the fresh scares and town clothing. “Where’s Ralph?!”

The group looks over to the opposing side of the house, witnessing the overrun mower. It’s pitched crashed, the down wooden pole, the smoking fuming from its engine and then- the small implosion that shoots ember carried gas. Creating a circling of tender that suffocates on the wet earth. Others kindling tips of corn. The wildfire creating a field of self-igniting mutants. The sun becomes the only other source of light as its equally orange glow sets behind the tree lining.