Infection |Infected Book 1|

(1) Adrenaline

Screams.

Screams fill my dream. Horrible painful cries ring through the air sounding far away, yet close enough to make my skin crawl. I can't tell where they are coming from, but they seem to be getting closer and closer until one pierces my ears, startling me awake.

I sit up straight in my bed, running my fingers through my hair, brushing the messy blonde waves away from my face. Sweat beads at my temples and drenches my body, making the material of my shirt stick uncomfortably to my back. My heart refuses to calm from its rapid beating, no matter how many deep breaths I take. The dream felt so real--the leave-my-body-trembling kind of real. Shaking my head, I try to erase the sound of the screams from my dream, but they continue to replay in my mind.

"Get out of my head," I say, massaging the sides of my skull. It's normal for people to talk to themselves, right?

I glance around my room, forgetting that I was back home for the weekend. I attend college at a university only two hours away from my hometown. I visit when I can and on this particular weekend I had to get away. It is nice to not be cramped inside that small-ass dorm room with a weird girl that constantly talks about how the end was near. Yeah, right.

Trying to distract myself doesn't work. The screams inside my head get louder, almost as if they are right outside my window. Another sound joins the internal screams and my heart races even faster as I hear tires squeal against the pavement outside.

Throwing back the comforter on my bed, I spring to the window, my fingers slicing between the blinds. My eyes dart left and right through the crack as my breath fogged up the glass. The window of my room is on the side of the house, but in the distance I can see the road that curves, leading away from our neighborhood. A car drives erratically around the corner, disappearing from my sight.

Then a woman runs into my vision, sprinting across the field next to the house. Blood soaks her clothes and terror fills her features. My heart had been racing before, but now it completely stops as if someone controlling my body had stomped on the brakes. I don't even breathe as I watch the woman run away from the neighborhood, vanishing around the bend in the road.

Then I remember the scream that startled me awake. Realization dawns on me.

Shit.

It wasn't a dream at all.

I back away from the window, nausea rolling through my stomach.

"Mom!" I yell, spinning towards my door. "Dad!"

When I get no answer, I rush through my door, out into the hallway, and down the stairs, the hem of my very over-sized white T-shirt tickling my naked legs.

When I get to the bottom of our wide oak staircase, I know something is wrong. The house is too quiet. Way too quiet. Every morning since I can remember I wake up to two things. One--Mom trying to make breakfast in the kitchen. The scent of burnt pancakes and eggs always manage to fill up the entire house. Two--Dad belting classic rock songs during whatever he was doing, whether it is showering, taking out the trash, or organizing his record collection. Even though I am barely home anymore, when I am there, they carry on, truly making me feel like I am home again.

I stand there, praying for Mom's cooking attempt to hit me or for Dad's off-tune vocals to reach my ear. No whiff of food comes my way. All I can hear is a completely dead, utterly scary silence.

"Mom?" I ask again, my voice echoing off of the walls. "Dad?"

Tremors shake my hands and knees as I walk towards the kitchen. I wonder whether I should call out for them again in case they can't hear me. Then again, I have seen enough scary movies that I figure it is probably smartest to keep my mouth shut and make as little noise as possible. Visions of the bloody woman down the road fill my mind and my face starts to clam up.