Chapter One: The Man of the Hour

Frederick Farraday waltzed down the empty morning alley adjacent to his hardware store. A light mist hung in the air as he took the trash from inside out to the trash can. He hoisted the heavy bag into the metal cylinder and located the lid a few feet away, placing it back onto the circle-top of its counterpart. Fred made his way back to the front of his store, which faced the gaping mouth of Cornwallace Street, New Haven's Broadway, and flipped on the electric Open sign outside of the window. Across from him, on the left side of the street, his wife raised the shutters concealing the inside of her arts and crafts store, "Lucy's Lucky Charms". Lucy waved to her husband from behind the glass, and her husband blew a kiss back. The sun was just now peeking over the mountain tops.

Cornwallace harbored a good nine or ten establishments before emptying out onto a courtyard where the town hall stood tall and majestic against a forestry backdrop. Here was where all roads met, coming from the neighborhoods and leading out to larger, busier roads, the main of which led up the mountainside and ended with a tunnel leading to a highway. A tall, barbed fence enclosed New Haven, outlining its perimeter and sealing off the only exit to the outside world, the tunnel. Along this fence were several surveillance towers, where volunteers from the town got up, or got down from them, to watch over the quite settlement. This morning happened to be Roger Greene's shift on the north tower, Tom Baker's on the south, Harold Hatcher's on the east, and Betty Grave's on the west. Each were armed with a hunting rifle, scavenged from an outdoor's retailer in the city, and a radio transmitter used to communicate between towers and the town hall. Days were usually quiet; no Deader dared come over the mountain or down the valley, but only if they were on the brink of starvation would anyone catch sight of a stray infected.

The sun had nearly broken free of the mountain's grasp. The paper boy saddled on to his sleek, red bicycle and began his round down Cornwallace. He tossed a paper to the front step of Gus' Eat-In, where Gus Patchio happily collected it. Bringing it to his face, Gus began to read about reports from around town, and quickly flipped to the World View section. This section of the New Haven Collector gathered information picked up on radio frequencies which broadcasted from around the world.

Gus frowned. Nothing new, there was still a war in China, London was still overtaken by Deaders, and the President of the United States was still MIA. He entered his establishment and tossed the paper behind the front desk. He followed the paper, picking up a broom as he walked and began sweeping the red-tiled floor behind the counter. The bell above the doorway gave a happy ting as a man in suit entered the Dine-In.

"Morning Mr. Douglas," Gus said, without even looking up from his work behind the counter.

"Morning Gus, coffee, black as usual," Jeffery Douglas beamed and placed the briefcase in his hand next to a stool, and pulled himself up to the counter. Gus magically withdrew a pot of pure black coffee from nowhere and began to pour the warm sustenance into a mug.

"How's the wife?" Gus asked, handing him the steaming cup.

"Busy as usual, counting supplies, and recounting, and counting again." He chuckled and brought the mug to his lips. Upon tasting the hot liquid inside, a smile stretched across his face. Holding the mug up, he exclaimed, "A damn fine cup of coffee!"

"Coming from the Mayor, that's a damn fine compliment," Gus chuckled and bowed from behind the counter. Another ring from the doorway and in rushed Mary Swinley, adjusting her apron as she walked. The sun illuminated the back of her head, lining her radiant auburn hair with golden sparks, as if she was dropped from Heaven. She smelled of cigarettes.

"You're late Mary-Jane," Gus said once again without looking up from his work.

"Sorry Boss," Mary huffed, "had a little trouble with Dixie, is Rio in the back?"

A loud crashing sound rang out from behind the counter, and a faint curse could be heard. Gus sighed and went to the door leading into the back of the establishment. Swinging it open, he yelled, "Rio, ya goddamned klutz, what'd ya break this time?"

"Nothing sir!" a worried voice came from behind the doorway, more rustling could be heard.

"Mary," Gus called the girl over, "get back there and see what the damage is."

"Yes Boss…" Mary complied and went through the doorway, closing the door behind her. Gus chuckled and picked up his broom once more. Jeffery smiled from behind his mug and finished off the last drops of coffee. He placed the mug back onto the counter and raised his wrist to his face. The watch greeted him, seven forty-seven exactly. Time to move on.

"Well, I'm off," Jeffery said, rising from his seat, briefcase in hand, "Here's three, just keep the change."

"You know I can't do that," Gus said, grabbing the dollar bills with his fat palm, "But just this once, okay?"

"That's what you said yesterday," Jeffery laughed, "And the day before that, and the day before that…"

"Yeah, yeah, get to work. We need someone to run this town!" With that, Jeffery Douglas left the building, and River Greene rushed in. Brushing past the mayor, River gave a quick, "Sorry, sir," and rushed up to the counter. Jeffery smiled. The man of the hour is here. He swung the door shut and made his way down Cornwallace.

River nearly slammed into the counter. Through rushed breaths, he looked up to Gus, still working with the broom, and asked, "Is…Rio…in?"

"In the back Mr. Greene," Gus threw a thumb to the back of the establishment, behind the door. He then stopped his work, finally, and glanced up at the young man. River's curly, dirty blonde hair tumbled over his eyes, exposing just bits of his bright green eyes.

"Is it today?" Gus asked solemnly.

"Yeah, it's today," River answered, walking past Gus towards the door.

"You need a haircut!" Gus called after him as he disappeared into the depths of the establishment. Had River any time to retort, he would lose focus on his goal. He called out for Rio, his voice echoing throughout the concealed kitchen. Suddenly Rio peeked his tan head out from the storage closet, a look of nervousness crossed his face. He whispered to his loudmouthed friend, "Ay, shut yer trap and get back here." River sighed and walked hurriedly towards the storage closet. Upon reaching the closet, he froze. What his eyes laid rest on was a bent over Mary, nearly exposing herself to the world, picking up a pile of broken plates as carefully as she could. Rio clasped his hands together, as if praying to some higher being, and pleaded, "Don't tell Pops, please!"

"Why the Hell would I tell your dad?" River shook his head, still staring down. Not at the plates though. "I need the camera."

"Oh yeah, you're doing…um…Ben right? Today?"

"Yep, that's him. I need the camera," River sounded rushed. Rio picked up on this, and began searching in the closet shelves.

"How's it going, River?" said the angelic voice he had been waiting for.

"Going?" River stammered for a millisecond, "It's going, ha. How are you?"

She smiled at him. "You always have a way with words. I'm fine," she resumed picking up the shards of porcelain, "just cleaning up after Butter-Fingers here."

"You know," Rio pulled out the HD handheld video camera from a secret location in the shelf, "you're a Nutter Butter, because all any guy wants to do is-."

"Finish that sentence, and you die," Mary waved a finger warningly at Rio's face.

"If I die," Rio handed River the camera, "Imma come back and bite yo ass fo' that!"

"Rio, chill," River received the camera, checked the battery, "You'll have plenty of time to make fun of Mary at the party tonight."

"Which is going to be TIGHT!" Rio raised a hand for a high five, but was met with the condescending gaze of Greene's eyes.

"Rio…" River shook his head.

"Nobody says "tight", anymore," Mary finished and giggled, tossing the remaining shards into a now filled garbage bag. River matched her laugh. Rio gawked and retorted, "Alright, alright. Pick on the Mexican why don't cha? Will see how funny it is when-."

A gun shot. The room went silent. Even from a half a mile away, the rifle could still be heard.


"Fuck…" Roger Greene began to reload the smoking hunting rifle. First Deader of the day, and he missed. He fumbled with the sleek, 7 mm cartridge until it snapped into the chamber of the rifle. Pulling back on the bolt, he quickly placed the scope back to his ocean blue eye. Sweat formed on the ridge of his brow. He coughed, and aligned the crosshairs of the scope with the rotten head of the Deader. The target was a good six hundred yards away, and fumbling around a luscious pine tree. Roger's position was faced towards the valley which led into a marsh, just before the city of Milwaukee. The marsh was a designated burial ground for any Deader; the bodies floated like black logs on the surface.

Roger held his breath. He could almost smell the rotting flesh. The head of the Deader turned to face him, and looked straight into the scope. As if it could see right into him. A second past, and then another, and with a loud, quick pop the rotting face in the scope split in two, exposing grey matter and spraying blood onto the green pine needles. The dead body fell to the ground, crashed and crumpled into a heap of flesh and broken bones. The blood came and stopped, and silence returned to the valley. Roger breathed out and relaxed the rifle. He laid it back beside his chair, and pulled out a small notebook and pen. He marked down the date, and the kill, which would make it…

"Roger, everything okay up there?" The voice hissed through the radio, causing Roger to jump a little. After regaining himself, he picked up the CB and pressed to talk.

"Forty-three, mark that down. Looks like I beat your record Gus…"


"Son of a bitch," Gus chuckled as he listened through his radio. He shook his head and pressed down on the CB.

"By one? Won't last long Rambo, just wait until I get back up there!"

"Dad got one?" River appeared from behind the door, his two companions trailing him.

"Yeah, your Pop's got me by one."

"Way to go dad!" River called into the CB, which Gus happened to have pressed to talk.

"River? Don't you need to be cataloguing Ben?"

"Oh crap," River glanced up at the Betty-Boop clock above them. He felt for the camera in his hands, and turned to leave.

"Hey River?" The voice interjected one last time.

"Yeah dad?" River called to his father, Gus holding the CB up so that it'd pick up his voice.

"Go easy on him, he's a lot more…fragile than the others."

"Alright, will do," River ignored his statement. He had catalogued so many people now, he didn't even recognize fragile. Someone was "fragile" when they attempt to blow their brains out the minute they reach New Haven. Luckily, he only had to deal with that once before. Before he could reach the exit, another voice rang out, "Don't forget!"

He looked back to see Mary standing on her tippy-toes.

"Nine o'clock!" River smiled and gave a thumbs-up to his friends. And with that he left Gus' Eat-In. Turning right, he faced the sidewalk leading towards Town Hall, put one step forward and raced down the drowsy morning street.