The infected moved slowly through the thick swamps. But they didn't mind the thick, unyielding muck. They only cared about food. In search of it they had wandered deep into the swampland, farther than most had ever journeyed. Many had fallen victim to the snakes and alligators that called the waters home. As the creatures trudged along some of them saw the light in the distance. It was a flickering light, a light produced by an ancient lantern. As they closed in they came into a small cluster of trees. Situated there was a deteriorating shack made of rotting wood. The sparsely shingled roof sagged slightly, and the windows were cracked badly. Big black chickens pecked about behind the structure. They curiously showed no fear towards the invaders. But the infected did not care about chickens. They were focused on the light that emitted from inside the shack. The infected had learned that light meant food. They cried out in joy as they advanced toward the ancient structure. The first to reach the door was delighted as it pushed it inwards. He cried out victoriously as he spotted the lone figure inside. His clawed hands reached out for the willowy man. Suddenly the figure wrapped his boney fingers around the creature's throat.
The rest of the infected froze as they heard the screams start from within the shack. They recognized the tortured cries as belonging to one of their own. Frightened and curious they edged a little closer to see what was becoming of their dying comrade. They cried out as a blinding light flashed from the windows of the structure. They covered their eyes with their hands and moaned in pain. They didn't notice the figure who emerged from the doorway. His tall, skeletal frame stood prominent in the moonlight. An eerie green glow came from his eyes. As he looked out over the wailing creatures he leaned on his cane and laughed. His voice sounded like the wind rustling through the cattails of the swamp. It was old and creaky, as though it hadn't been used in decades. It hadn't. The figure walked out towards the infected without showing any fear at all. He stopped in front of a cowering creature that sobbed in pain as it covered its eyes. The boney being used his finger to lift the wretch's head from his hands. He could see that the eyes of the creature now had a similar glow to his own. Slowly the green-eyed infected became calm and still, as did the rest of his brethren. The figure laughed again. Its sinister tone echoed throughout the swamp.
"Did I ever tell you 'bout the time my buddy Keith got his arm torn off by Bigfoot?" Ellis asked no one in particular, "Ya see we were on this road trip to Wisconsin 'cause he wanted to get some cheese for his grandma's birthday, and then we were way up in the north woods lookin' for a Cheese factory and we got lost. So then we stopped to look at a map, and then-"
"Shut up," growled Nick. He spoke for everybody, as they were all tired of hearing Ellis's Keith stories. Even the three new survivors who had only met up with them three days ago were already sick of them.
"I hate Bigfoot," muttered Francis. The biker scanned kept an eye out as the group of seven slowly made their way through the seemingly empty streets of Rayford. But everyone knew that the infected were always there even when they couldn't see them. Their cautiousness had so far allowed them to make it to halfway through the city with relatively little injury. They were having unbelievable luck for the day as they had not seen a single tank or witch anywhere. In fact they had not seen any infected at all. The trash-strewn streets of the city were silent and unmoving. The only noise to be heard was the hurried footsteps of the survivors.
"I don't like this," Zoey whispered, "It's-"
"Too quiet, we know," finished Nick, "Like the eye of the storm." No one spoke as they continued. There really wasn't anything to be said. The wind suddenly picked up and rustled the branches of the trees. Leaves were rattled loose from their holds and fluttered to the ground. The sudden commotion startled the survivors, but only for a second. As suddenly as it had picked up, the wind slowly dissipated into nothing.
"…Weird…" Rochelle murmured under her breath.
The reason the survivors were unable to spot any infected was because the majority of them were gathered in a cemetery on the other side of Rayford. That particular cemetery was renowned as being the largest one in the county. It was filled with tombs; burials were rare in that part of the south. The stone structures looked like massive boulders in a field so large it could have housed a football stadium. The hordes of infected were laboriously busting open the heavy doors and ripping open the caskets. The eyes of the creatures glowed an unnatural green as they carefully pulled the rotting corpses out of the ancient coffins. They were dry and stiff, and their clothing loosely hung from their shriveled bodies. The cadavers were carried from their place of rest and placed in a continuously growing line. The figure from the swamp walked along the line with the aid of his cane. He examined the corpses his servants had brought him. They were a few years above of what he wanted, but they would do. He reached into his ragged jacket and produced a small burlap pouch. He pulled its drawstrings open tenderly. He could not afford to spill something so precious. The figure carefully allowed some of the contents to spill out into his sinewy palms. The strange substance consisted of several dried plants that had been ground up into a fine powder. In one swift motion the figure threw the powder over heads of about five cadavers. The clutched his cane as he waited in anticipation. Then it began. The corpses suddenly began writhing on the ground. Hollow screams came out of their dried lips as the insidious green glow lit up their eye sockets. Their bodies creaked and groaned as they began to right themselves. The infected gazed at the skeletal creatures fearfully. Even a hunter could not help but cower from the unnatural monstrosities. The being that had brought them back spoke in his raspy voice.
"Welcome back."
Nick sat with the rest of the survivors, and as usual, was in a rather unpleasant mood. His suit was covered in dirt that would probably never come out. But even though he knew it was in vain he continued to try and brush it off.
"So you three are heading for the Florida keys?" coach asked as he bit into the crude sandwich he had fashioned out of a chunk of spam and two slices of stale bread. Louis nodded in response.
"It was Bill's Idea," he explained, "He wanted to get away from the world once he figured we were…" his voice choked up with emotion. Coach could see that the three survivors from New York were still experiencing grief from the loss of their friend. From what he'd seen Coach knew that Zoey was taking it especially hard.
"Carriers," finished Francis. The biker turned away from the campfire and started cleaning his gun. Coach decided it was best not to pry at the subject any longer and turned his attention to Ellis. He was able to tell from the start that the mechanic had taken a liking to Zoey. Currently Ellis was stealing quick glances at the young woman. They were not purely feelings of lust, more of timid admiration. Coach shook his head and looked over at Rochelle. She was sorting through their supplies. This was the fifth time she'd done it since they'd stopped for the night. Coach had asked her about it on the third time she'd started, but stopped after he was met with hostility. He attributed her behavior to a nervous habit. After glancing over at Nick to make sure he was okay, Coach turned his attention back to his sandwich.
The hunter watched the survivors from the tiny window of the abandoned house. Inside five of them slept, while two kept a careful watch. Even though it was illogical to try and attack them now, every instinct was gnawing him to pounce inside and disembowel them. But he had received instructions to only scout out the area for any living humans and report them back to his new leader. If he did he would be rewarded with a tasty chicken. This thought started his salivary glands to start pumping liquid into his mouth. The foul-smelling liquid poured out of his mouth and onto the windowsill. The giddy creature ran back to tell of his find.
The skeletal figure sat on a ruined tomb, residing over the graveyard like a macabre king. His subjects had doubled in number. Among the infected now stood countless resurrected corpses. They stood apart from the diseased humans by having an advanced case of necrosis. They were truly rotting remains. At that moment the keen eyes of the figure noticed the fast-paced being that ran in through the rusting gates. He cried out in a voice that sounded victorious. It stopped at the feet of its master and looked up with its green eyes.
"Yes, Coon-dog?" The being had taken to calling the predatory members of his army coon-dogs, after the breed of canine that was used to hunt raccoons. The infected creature let out a series of screeches and shrieks. The being did not know the words it had used, but understood their meaning. He wrapped his icy digits around his cane. It had been carved in the shape of a snake. It glared out at the world with lifeless eyes fashioned out of sea-glass. Holding it as if it were a scepter the being stood up from his makeshift throne and addressed the horde.
"Brothers and sisters of the rebirth," he rasped loudly, "I have for y'all a mission. Bring me the survivors that your brother speaks of," he paused allowing for his words to sink in. The creatures might not consciously know what he was saying, but they would do whatever he told them to.
"These lowly wretches have evaded you for too long," he continued, "But with my help we will eliminate them!" There was an angry murmur that swept through the crowd. Perhaps they grasped some of his speech after all.
"But," said the being, "We won't kill them. We grow more powerful with each person we add to the horde. I intend to convert any whose hearts still beat, whose blood still runs, whose eyes still lack the shine of rebirth!" The murmur had risen to an animalistic roaring noise, emitting from all as though it came from a single monstrous creature. "Go!" cried the figure, "Go find these wretches! Bring them to me alive and unscathed!" He pointed his cane to the gates of the cemetery. The horde barreled out in a mad rush, and a few unfortunate creatures were crushed to death by their comrades. Soon the lot was empty save for the figure and a hunter who gazed at him curiously. The being soon noticed this and smiled. He reached down beside him and threw a gutted chicken corpse at the hunter. The creature cried out joyously as he tore off to join the others, his bloodied prize held tightly in his hands.