Mark could see nothing. His world was black. But he could hear. Far away, in the distance, he heard his family's voices. His father, brother, and mother. He couldn't understand what they were saying... it was incoherent... but he didn't need to understand their words to know that they were afraid... and in pain...

He began to run in a desperate attempt to reach them. But he could never get closer. And he still couldn't see.

Then there was a blinding light... and he woke up in his bed. The ceiling fan rotated around in circles. The smell of sizzling bacon wafted in. The chirping of birds was in his ears.

It had been a dream. He shuddered. Another dream!

He yawned and stretched his stiff muscles before climbing out of bed and going downstairs.

His brother Marvin was in the kitchen, cooking. His imposing six-foot height practically took up the entire room. Mark sat at the table, rubbing his eyes. Marvin plonked a plate down in front of him. "I heard you scream," he commented. Mark blinked up at his brother; "You did?"

Marvin nodded. His features were more defined than Mark's. He had sandy blonde hair and sideburns. "What happened? You get another cramp?"

"No. I just had a dream," Mark replied, tearing into his food, wolfing it down in hungry gulps. Marvin grunted obstinately.

Mark swallowed a mouthful and said, "I've been having similar dreams night after night for the past week."

"Oh?" Marvin said, back to cooking.

"Yeah. It's weird."

"Maybe you got some kind of condition."

"Well gee. I hope not."

"Yeah, me too."

Mark devoured the rest of his food. "Okay, where's dad?"

"Out in the garden," Marvin nodded. "Getting us some veggies."

Mark pushed his empty plate away, stood, and walked to the door. "I'll go help him out."

"Okay."

He opened the door, and sunlight immediately blinded him. He blinked a few times until his eyes were used to the harsh light, before starting down the little cobblestone walkway toward the garden.

His father was bent down in the garden, uprooting carrots, beats, and other vegetables. His hands and clothes were caked with dirt. He looked up as Mark approached. "There you are. Heard you making a ruckus last night."

"Yeah," Mark said. "I had a dream."

"Another dream?" His father shook his head. "You becoming a seer or something?"

"I hope not. They have to wear long robes."

"True indeed." His father patted his hands together, crumbling away some of the dirt that was imbedded in his skin. "Well, you can take these back." He motioned to the basket full of fresh veggies. "I'll just finish up here."

Mark picked the basket up. "When's mom coming home?"

"Oh, soon," his father replied, squinting off into the horizon. "You know her. Always busy with something or rather."

Mark nodded and went back to the house. He turned at the sound of approaching hooves. He looked up, and there on the crest of the hill, was a horse, with a rider on its back. The pair stood, frozen, on the hill. Mark couldn't distinguish the rider's features. Without warning, the rider suddenly slumped in the saddle and fell to the ground.

"Romeo!" Mark's father hollered. Immediately, the horse burst into a run, toward him. Mark put down his basket and ran to his father. Romeo snorted and huffed; he was upset. Mark's father grabbed the tether and gave it to Mark. "Take him back, I'll go check on your mom." Mark looked at the motionless figure lying on the hillside. "Is she alright?" he asked worriedly.

His father gave him a shove. "Go put him away and come back!"

Mark ran, leading Romeo to the barn, where he quickly tied the steed to a fence post before running back to rejoin his father. Marvin joined him. "What's going on?" he asked.

"I don't know. Mom's back, but she fell out of the saddle."

The two brothers joined their father on the hill. He was carrying their mother in his arms. Her eyes were closed; her dark hair hung in a loose sheet; her clothes were stained in blood. Was she dead? Mark swayed on his feet, no, no, she can't be dead she cannot be dead...

"Is she dead?" Marvin demanded.

"Move aside," his father ordered gruffly. "Marvin, go in and get some hot water for us. Mark, I need you to open the door."

Mark followed his father into the house. He placed her on the couch. She didn't move. Mark couldn't believe his eyes. "She's not dead." It was a statement, not a question. Because he refused to believe that his one and own mother could be dead.

"No, she's not," his father replied stoically. He looked at the wound. "It's a bite. Oh, no. It's a zombie bite."

Marvin came back into the room, carrying a bucket of warm water. Their father soaked a rag in the water, and pressed it down on the bite.

"Get me some healing herbs," he ordered. Mark sprinted into the kitchen, riffled through some cabinets, came back with the little medicinal basket with all the herbs in it. His father snatched the basket from him, messily upturned the contents onto the floor, and selected a thick grey leaf from the pile of medicines. He gave it back to Mark. "Chew." Mark stuffed the leaf in his mouth and began chewing. It had a bitter, disgusting taste, but he ignored it and just kept chewing. When it was suitably ground up, he spat it back out and returned the mush to his father, who pressed it onto their mother's wound.

Suddenly her eyes snapped open. She looked around, confused and scared. Mark's father grabbed her; "Tessa, it's okay. Tessa, it's me. Can you see me?"

Her eyes focused on him. Her lips moved. Mark couldn't hear what she was saying. His father bent down, put his ear to her mouth. Her lips continued to move. Then she gasped and closed her eyes again.

Cruel fingers tightened around Mark's heart. "Is she dead?"

His father shook his head. "No. Here, hand me a new rag."

Marvin gave it to him. "What did she say?" he asked.

"She said, 'They're invading. Obion's overrun. Get my children away from here.'"

His words hung in the air for several long moments.

"But Obion is the strongest city in the world!" Marvin protested.

"And who's 'they'?" Mark added.

"The monsters," his father replied. "It must be them."

"But that's impossible!" Marvin yelled.

"Don't yell at me young man!" his father shouted back; "Go and get me some clean clothes." He turned to Mark, his eyes were scared. "She's been bit. It's a zombie bite. How long does it usually take for someone to turn after getting bit?"

Mark racked his brain for the answer; truth be told, he was having trouble focusing on anything. "Uh, about two days."

His father made a face. "Then it could already be too late. I'll do my best to treat her; after that, we can only pray."

And so Mark did.