With his nerves buzzing and adrenaline pulsing through his veins, Alex flexed his fingers and tightened his grip around the 9mm, preparing to deliver death to whatever entered the kitchen doorway. But nothing did.

His chest heaved, the visor fogging with each exhalation, then clearing, then fogging again, until eventually, the breaths came softer. Alex felt his knees trembling, with each of the twins clutching one of his legs for dear life. He knew, just knew, that the moment they retreated, whatever was hiding in the next room would spring through the dark entrance and attack. But he would not give it a chance. Instead, he shuffled forward and rounded the corner.

The flashlight speared through the murky interior of a dining room, the beam illuminating floating specks of what appeared to be ash. Alex was sure that to inhale even a tiny particle of this falling debris would spell death and he was grateful for the bio suits.

He was reminded that soon the respirators would have to be replaced. They were at 50% before they left the silo earlier.

As he panned the room with the flashlight, dark, foreign forms were revealed to be ordinary furniture: a table with four chairs, a china cabinet in the far corner, a serving table against the wall to their left. A chandelier swung ever so gently from a fractured ceiling. It swung ever so gently in the darkness and Alex could not understand why.

Had something moved it? The person or thing that had wheezed?

His heart pulsing, an alert Alex scanned the dim corners with the determination of a predatory bird hunting its prey. Something in here was alive. It might want to harm him and the twins. Might want to kill them. Eat them.

Then again, it could be someone in trouble. What if it was a child in need? This notion eased Alex’s resolve and that was not good.

His father’s voice came to him. “Never let your guard down, Alex. Never. You need to be ready to shoot first. Others will be ready to.”

Alex flexed his fingers, getting a better grip on the pistol. The dining room was clear. They moved around the large table and into a family room. Again, bulky forms were discovered to be a couch and loveseat, a large chair and ottoman.

Oh shit.

Someone was seated in the chair.

Alex’s pulse soared. Annabelle whimpered at the site of the figure. Both children again gripped Alex’s legs for comfort. He held the beam as steady as possible in his quaking grip and after a few moments, discovered the person was slumped over, some of his skull missing. Judging by the figure’s size, Alex determined it to be a man. He had apparently shot himself, a handgun lying on the floor amid a pool of time-darkened blood.

Jesus Christ.

The wheezing came again, and Alex spun in the direction. To their left stood a glass framed door leading to another room, half open. Easing toward it, Alex listened, heard the sound again, and tip-toed through the entry and onto a closed in porch.

Here, it was marginally brighter. The porch was furnished with wicker chairs featuring old, filthy cushions. A glass table was set before them with an open book turned facedown, a pair of reading glasses atop it. Everything was layered with the ash-like substance, which fell in greater quantity than inside.

He heard the noise again and then Alex saw it.

In the far corner was the seated form of a woman. She, like the man inside, was slouched, leaning against the back of the chair. Alex noted the peculiar dimensions of the woman’s figure; her bottom half rested in the chair, while her torso rose high above the chair, as if her spine had grown additional vertebrae. Unlike the man, the woman’s head was not partially blown away…it was missing altogether. The neck, like the spine, had become elongated and risen upward along the wall, disappearing through a hole in the ceiling.

The torso suddenly expanded and constricted, and Alex heard the wheeze again. He opened the front door and ushered Henry and Annabelle down four steps into the yard. Then he turned back toward the house and spotted the woman’s head protruding through the porch roof, the mouth agape, spewing the ashen material into the air.

“Mud room,” whispered Alex.

He could not envision Mo, at least not yet, but Alex knew the distorted woman before him was Mo’s mother. Or had once been his mother. Now, she was a monstrosity, releasing God knows what into the air.

Were they tiny seeds?

“Dear God…” Alex said aloud.

The thought was troubling; that there could be countless former people-turned-seed generators.

Alex stared up at the hideous head, cocked on the spine at an awkward angle. It gazed back at Alex with dark, recessed eye sockets. She wheezed again and that’s when it dawned on him. This wasn’t a thing before him – it was a human being, at least a part of it.

Christ…she’s fucking alive.

*********

Coasting into the parking lot, Alex brought the pickup to a halt and shifted into Park. He checked the area, decided it was safe and leaned back in his seat. Henry and Annabelle studied the setting through the windows as they always did whenever they arrived at their destination. Alex had taught them never to just exit the vehicle without checking their surroundings. As he watched them put their practice into action, he felt a sense of satisfaction. It was reassuring to see them thinking for themselves without any prompt from their older brother and this caused Alex to relax for a moment. A brief and much needed sense of optimism eased his troubled mind.

And then he remembered Mo’s house.

They had driven in silence after leaving that dark place. Alex recalled the bizarre encounter with Mo’s mother. Before departing, he had put a bullet in her head and watched as the wheezing, membranous thing that had once been a human torso, release its last breath. Then, using matches from the pickup’s toolbox, he had set fire to the home.

Fire cleanses, he thought.

But he wasn’t so sure about that. Maybe this world wasn’t capable of being cleansed.

Womack’s grocery store was but a shell of its former self. The W and O had long ago fallen from the façade, the windows were boarded up and cracks in the pavement had given way to wild grass and weeds. Old, rusted bits of metal littered the ground and broken glass and trash were everywhere.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Alright,” said Alex, disengaging his seatbelt. “We’re going inside to find some food. I know it’s scary, especially after what we just saw in that house, but we have to check. Okay?”

The twins nodded. They unclicked their seatbelts and followed Alex out the driver’s side door. He led them to a patch of high grass beside a fenced-in trash dumpster on the side of the building. Approaching straight on was problematic as it gave anyone that might be inside a full view of himself and the twins. It also gave them ample time to hide…or plan an attack. At the same time, Alex always kept the pickup close at hand should they need to flee. This whole existence hinged on the fight or flight principle, with flight being the preferred response.

When he was confident that they were alone, he led the twins from the fenced-in dumpster to a cluster of pine trees at the corner of the structure and searched again. A space between two of the window boards provided a means to search the interior and Alex did so as best he could. His view was limited but one thing was certain; it was dim in there. Too dim for comfort.

He sighed, thinking for a moment. And that let the doubts in. Doubts were good, he told himself. They kept him in check, prevented him from making rash decisions.

He checked the parking lot again. Should he do this? Was it worth the risk?

Don’t dawdle Alex.

His father’s voice.

Be confident in whatever decision you make.

They were stationary for too long. He peeked through the crack, inspecting the interior once more. He didn’t detect anyone or anything inside and so they moved, rounding the corner, and crossing the wide stretch of glass encasing the storefront, the children following closely behind. The automatic doors were inoperable, so Alex forced them open, which to his dismay created more noise than he would have preferred. Inside it was dim, but what he had not noticed from his limited view outside were the shafts of gold light streaming in through a few windows whose boards had fallen loose. This made a flashlight unnecessary. He looked the store over. Except for being somewhat dusty, the place was surprisingly well-kept; it almost appeared to still be in use.

Annabelle held Henry’s hand with her right, while her left clung to a fistful of fabric from Alex’s bio suit. Their older brother shouldered the rifle and withdrew the 9mm, strafing along the front of the store, just past the two check-out lanes, peering down each of the eight isles. Once he was sure each of these was clear, he and the twins moved to the rear of the store. Here, they encountered dual glass enclosures that Alex guessed had once stored deli meats on one side, and a butcher’s section on the other.

The three passed through an old-fashioned waist-high swinging door that separated the deli from the rest of the store. Alex cringed, as the door produced a creak that seemed amplified in the otherwise absolute silence. He paused, believing he had heard shuffling. The sudden halt spooked the children and Annabelle tightened her grip.

Alex swung the pistol in a circle, rescanning the isles he had already confirmed as clear. But of course, he had left the front door open as a possible exit in the event they had to flee. This also left no obstacle for anyone or anything that wished to follow them into the store.

After a minute had passed without any sound other than their own breathing, Alex continued the search, passing through the swinging door and into a back storage area, partitioned from the deli by a heavy, plastic curtain. Here, the darkness magnified, necessitating the flashlight. Alex switched it on. Shadows of cardboard boxes and crates were slapped against the wall and Alex flinched at their wavering forms. Annabelle released a whimper and wrapped her arm around Alex’s leg.

The big brother swept left and right with the beam, then stepped farther into the storage room. It was empty.

He patted Annabelle’s back. “It’s okay. We’re alone.”

Two cardboard boxes sat on the top of a metal shelving unit. Alex used a nearby step ladder to reach them.

“Careful, Alex,” warned Annabelle.

“Don’t worry,” said Henry, stepping forward, his bravery on full display. “If he falls, I’ll catch him.”

“I’m okay guys,” replied Alex. “Just keep a lookout.”

They did and Alex rummaged through the boxes. One yielded the remnants of what looked to be severely moldy bread. The other, however, produced two cans of corned beef hash.

He checked the expiration dates. They were good.

“Dinner,” he said, stepping down from the step ladder. Inside the children’s helmets, wide smiles beamed.

After leading the twins back to the main area of the store, Alex dropped to one knee and brought Henry and Annabelle closer. “Okay, you remember what to do: I’ll keep watch while you two look underneath the shelves for any cans that might’ve rolled under. Okay?”

The twins nodded. Alex stood up, pistol at the ready while the Henry and Annabelle conducted their search. The first isle produced no results, but on the second, Henry burst upright holding a can of corn and cried, “I found sumthin!”

Then Annabelle scored. “A can of…” she rotated the cans until the label faced her. “Ham!”

“There’s more than that.”

Alex heard the voice and spun on his heels, jabbing the 9mm toward the store’s front entrance and almost pulled the trigger as he saw a strange man standing before them. “Stay where you are!” commanded Alex.

The man slowly raised both hands in the air.

Alex then waived the children toward him. “Guys, get over here!”

Annabelle darted to Alex’s side, but Henry stood still, frozen by fear. The canned corn fell from his hand and rolled forward, bumping to a stop against the checkout lane.

"Henry!” Alex called again.

The boy still did not move. He stood, trembling. Terror-stricken.

Alex stepped forward, grabbed Henry’s suit, and pulled him back several feet. The man bent down and grabbed the can and held it at arm’s length. Alex locked eyes with him, his heart thundering. The man’s eyes were deeply set, with dark circles beneath. His skin appeared rough and leathery. He had a wiry gray beard with what looked like blades of yellowed grass jutting out here and there. The more Alex stared, the more he was sure the blades were not just stuck in the beard, but a part of it.

A hybrid.

“It’s alright,” said the man, setting the canned corn on the check-out counter. “This is my store. You can take it.”

Alex hesitated, then grabbed the can and backed away. “Can you spare it?”

The man nodded. “You’ll have to pay for it, though.”

Alex thought about it, his eyes never leaving the man. “I can’t pay you for it, but I can trade something.”

“Alright,” said the man. “I’m Ernie.” He held out his hand, then retracted it. “Don’t worry, now that I think about it, I shouldn’t shake yours, either. Can’t tell what people are carrying these days.” Ernie walked behind the counter and reached low for something.

“Easy!” warned Alex. “If you come up with a weapon, I’ll shoot!”

Ernie shook his head and held his hands up, palms out. “No weapon. Just a camera.” He reached below the counter again, much slower this time, and raised a small box, setting it down in front of him. He opened it and removed an old-time polaroid camera. “You may take the food in return for a picture.”

“A picture?” asked Alex. The twins glanced at Alex, then at the man, then back at Alex.

“That’s it,” said Ernie. “Just a photograph. I like to keep a record of everyone that visits the store,” he added, pointing to the front window. It was covered with dozens of photographs taped to the glass.

Ernie had taken the photo and while Alex and the twins left the store, they saw him taping it to the front window so that it faced toward the interior, adding it to his arrangement. Alex buckled Henry and Annabelle’s seatbelts and started the pickup. As they pulled away in the late afternoon sun, Ernie waved goodbye.

*********

“That was really them.”

The voice was a spectral, electronic sound, filtered through a metallic helmet fitted with a respiration device. It was accompanied by automated breathing, accentuated by occasional wheezing. The man had emerged from the rear of the store and now stood beside Ernie.

The shopkeeper nodded. “That was them, alright. Just like you remember them?”

There was a hesitation, then the man spoke. “Yes and no.”

“I see. Can’t imagine it’s easy after all this time.”

The man seemed to ignore that last statement and instead asked, “You said they come here every day?”

“Usually,” said Ernie. “Sometimes every couple of days. I give them what supplies I’m able to obtain. Mostly food and water.”

“What about fuel?” The man coughed inside the helmet. It sounded more like a mechanized groan of distress than anything a human might produce.

“I provide that too, when he needs it.”

“All of this is so strange…”

“Yes,” said Ernie. “Why didn’t you just tell him now?”

The man gingerly shook his head, as if the action was a great strain. “He isn’t ready to hear it…and I’m not ready to tell.”

Nodding, Ernie said, “Just had to see him first?”

A pause, then, “Yes.”

The two of them stood in the dwindling golden light, watching the fading dust trails left by the pickup truck. The man inhaled deeply, followed by another cough, tinged with that mechanical tone.

Ernie winced and looked at the man. “Are you alright?”

The man continued staring ahead through the dusty window. He appeared deep in thought; not wholly present, as if his mind was revisiting some distant memory. After a moment, he acknowledged Ernie’s inquiry. “No. I’m not.”