THE FIRST INFECTED

AUTHOR’S POV 

The warning bell rang just after sunset.

Once. Twice.

A third strike sent Elena rushing out of her treatment room, medical bag in hand.

At the settlement gate, two men struggled to support a third between them. The stranger’s boots dragged through the dirt. Sweat soaked his shirt, and his head lolled against one man’s shoulder.

“Move!” Elena ordered.

The crowd parted.

“He was lying beside the eastern road,” one of the men explained. “We thought he’d collapsed from exhaustion.”

The stranger’s lips cracked open.

“Water.”

Elena caught him as his knees buckled. His skin burned beneath her fingers, but his hands were ice-cold.

“How long has he been sick?”

“Couldn't say. He was alone when we found him.”

The stranger seized Elena’s wrist.

His grip was shockingly weak at first, then tightened with sudden desperation.

“Don't let them in.”

“Who?”

His eyes darted toward the darkening road.

“Please.”

His fingers slipped from her wrist, and his body sagged.

“Get him to my treatment room. Now!”

They carried him through the gate.

Elena followed, already fearing she had brought something dangerous into the settlement.

“Put him on the bed.”

The men lowered the stranger while Elena pulled a lamp closer. His breathing came in short, shallow gasps. A tremor rippled through his arms, growing violent whenever she tried to examine him.

She checked his pulse.

Too fast.

His pupils responded sluggishly to the light.

“Can you hear me?” she asked.

His eyes opened.

For one brief moment, he looked like an ordinary frightened man.

Then he whispered, “The dead don't stay dead.”

Elena stilled.

“What did you say?”

His gaze fixed on something behind her.

“They get up.”

She glanced over her shoulder. Nothing stood there except the shelves of medicine and the closed door.

“Who gets up?”

The stranger began shaking his head.

“No. No, they're coming.”

“Who is coming?”

He screamed.

The sound tore through the small room. He arched off the bed, striking the wall with enough force to rattle the shelves.

Elena reached for his shoulder.

“Easy! You're having a fever. You need to—”

He threw her across the room.

Her hip slammed into the worktable. Glass jars crashed to the floor, scattering shards across the boards.

Before she could rise, the stranger was on his feet.

The man who had barely been able to walk now stood rigidly upright, his chest heaving. His bloodshot eyes locked onto her.

A guttural snarl rolled from his throat.

Luma recoiled inside Elena.

That's not right.

The stranger lunged.

Elena twisted aside. His shoulder struck the table, splintering one of its legs. She scrambled toward the door, but he caught the back of her dress and dragged her to the floor.

Pain shot through her shoulder.

She kicked backward, connecting with his knee. He barely reacted.

“Help!” she screamed.

The door burst open.

Garrick rushed inside with two hunters behind him.

“Elena?”

“Get him away from me!”

The stranger abandoned her and charged at Garrick.

They collided hard enough to drive the hunter into the wall. The stranger's jaws snapped inches from Garrick's face.

“Get this bastard off me!”

The other hunters grabbed the attacker's arms. For a moment, they held him.

Then he hurled one across the room.

The man crashed against the shelves and crumpled to the floor.

Garrick stared in disbelief.

“How is he that strong?”

The stranger twisted violently, dragging the remaining hunter several steps before throwing him off.

Elena seized a coil of rope from the wall.

“Garrick! His arms!”

The hunter lunged from behind, locking both arms around the stranger's chest. Elena caught one wrist while Garrick forced the other behind his back.

Together, they drove the struggling man to the floor.

“Hold him!”

The rope bit into the stranger's skin as Elena secured his wrists. He thrashed so violently that the floorboards groaned beneath him.

“By the Moon Goddess,” Garrick gasped. “What is wrong with him?”

Elena had no answer.

Then the stranger stopped fighting.

His body went completely still.

Garrick loosened his grip.

“Is he—”

The man began laughing.

It was a thin, broken sound, nothing like the violent snarling that had filled the room moments earlier.

Elena crouched several feet away.

“Can you hear me?”

His laughter stopped.

He turned his head toward her.

“They told us it was a fever.”

“Who told you?”

“The doctors.” His lips trembled. “The authorities. They said it would pass.”

His eyes filled with tears.

“They lied.”

Elena felt a chill creep up her spine.

“What happened in the city?”

The stranger pulled against the ropes. His fingernails scraped the floorboards.

“They ate them.”

“Who ate them?”

“The dead.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“They get up, and they come for you.”

His entire body convulsed.

“Get back!” Elena shouted.

She barely had time to move before his head struck the floor with a sickening crack. Blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. His limbs jerked twice, then fell still.

Elena waited.

“Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

She approached cautiously and pressed two fingers against his neck.

No pulse.

She checked again.

Nothing.

The stranger was dead.

For several seconds, the room remained silent except for the ragged breathing of the men around her.

Garrick slowly rose.

“Elena?”

She withdrew her hand.

“He's gone.”

The hunter who had been thrown against the shelves groaned behind them. Elena hurried to check him, relieved to find he was conscious and breathing, though his shoulder was badly bruised.

Then she looked at the dead stranger.

The man had arrived begging for water. Less than an hour later, he had attacked everyone in the room with strength his fever-ravaged body should not have possessed.

And he had spoken about the dead rising.