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and covered her mouth. He didn’t want her to scream. He knew she would react poorly, and worked hard to twist her back, so she could see his face.
    The fright in her eyes caused his hand to slip off her quivering mouth.
    “Get to the third level,” Abraham whispered, his dry lips pulling back from her ear. She squirmed back and darted for the ladder to the third level. A nauseating stab churned his stomach as he was forced to imagine the terrible things Rictor must have done to her. Hunter , he reminded himself turning back toward the broken rail overlooking the first floor.
    For Abraham, it was far worse knowing he would have to do something stupid to save his grandson. He could only hope and pray he was faster than the monster and its lesser brethren. At his age, the odds weren’t in his favor. He leveled his pistol at the rotten head of the thing; it was the size of a large truck. It’s not enough, he thought, spotting a half empty whiskey bottle near the second-level ledge. He crossed the grate, and suppressed his fears. His hand turned counterclockwise and the liquor splashed down upon the head of the anomaly. He longed for the harsh drink to be pouring down his throat.
    The giant freak screamed, causing a momentary brain mismatch: anger, terror, and everything in an eternal nightmare too loud, too piercing. Abraham jolted back like a frightened child, dropping the bottle. Yet, he wasn’t a child; he was an old man. The buzzing continued it was the sound of demonic steel knifing into every frequency ever known. He reached into his survival pack and produced a homemade Molotov cocktail. He readied the weapon quick as he could. The flint of his lighter exploded in color, giving away his position. The rag lit and the glass left his hand in the blink of an eye. It exploded when it shattered upon the bloated frame of the immense infected freak. The flames spread out, shocking the rest of the infected scurrying about in a dark rage.
    Fighting the sudden light, Abraham hurried toward an old pulley tangled with a hook. He twisted its crane-like frame, and prayed the twine wasn’t frayed. The hook swung down low, smashing the infected giant across its boiled face, and continued toward the stack of hay.
    “Hunter, get your ass up here,” he snapped. The blister of flames devouring the lower levels spread about quick and wild. The thick smoke made it hard to breathe. “Hunter, move! Now!”
    A second later, the teenage boy climbed to the top of the pyramid of hay and jumped into the hook.  Abraham heaved with all his might, and thanks to the boy running up the backside of the wall, he managed to heave him over the balcony rail.
    Below, the flames stunned the infected. Abraham yanked Hunter to his feet and moved through the darkness. The boy was dumbfounded. Abraham found himself dragging Hunter back to the ladder leading up to the third level. Hunter stared at him as if he could not comprehend what had happened. Abraham reached out and slapped his grandson. He was out of options. It worked as Hunter erupted in a rapid cough caused by the building smoke. Abraham knew it was the boy’s asthma.
    “Only a little farther,” Abraham grunted, trying to settle down.
    A band of sweltering infected scrambled up to the second floor, zoning in on the boy’s uncontrollable cough. Some of them were human torches. In a matter of seconds, they were nearly on him. Hunter tried to level his rifle, but the monsters came too fast.
    Abraham drew his pistol and fired, recounting the people he had killed over his lifetime. “Climb, you stupid boy!” he shouted as he emptied the magazine. The first wave was dead. However, the burning bodies ignited part of the second floor.
    Hunter gripped the ladder and scaled it though the harsh coughing continued. Abraham emptied a second magazine, then pushed the boy the rest of the way up using the side of his sweat-filled, flush face. Below, he heard the infected scratching, howling, and struggling