End of Chapter 5, Beginning of 6!!!!-- and I finally found the buttons to adjust the text!

........He took pictures so he could ask Katrina about it when he got back.

Around back there was more of the property scattered with bushes and trees that looked in as bad of shape as the house. The foundation of the cabin was surrounded by dead rose bushes—no roses, all thorns. Peaking out of the corner behind one bush was a broken window to the basement, only partially covered from the inside.

Chris tapped the wooden fence post in front of him to make sure there was no charge being conducted through the wood. Once he was satisfied that he wasn’t about to be a six foot two barbeque, he braced himself on the post to lean in and get a better look. He took his camera back out of his pocket and zoomed in to take a better picture. When he looked at the digital screen he was startled when a pair of small eyes were looking back at him through the bottom of the window. He dropped the camera just as he took the picture and it hit the carpet of leaves with a thud. Looking back at the window there was nothing there but pieces of glass. Chris took a step back and lowered himself to the ground and stretched his hand underneath the fence where his camera had bounced. He was able to reach the wrist strap and pull the camera towards him. The leaves were so matted down, the camera slid right along the surface. He quickly looked at the picture on the camera: there was nothing in the window. He convinced himself it was just the light playing off the shards of glass in the windowsill.

In the back, far corner of the cabin was a silo—or at least it looked like it could have been. It was a tall cylindrical building made out of wood with a flat top and covered in vines. At about twenty feet tall and fifteen feet in diameter, Chris had never seen a silo like this; it looked like the top half had been removed. It reminded Chris of an eighteenth century insane asylum hidden in the woods of Virginia. Chris’ father used to tell him and his brother: “it was used to house the people that were just too crazy to be in the hospital”. The brothers were so curious to see the inside that they would go there often to try and catch a glimpse of the inside, but they were always stopped by barbed wire wrapped tightly and haphazardly around the base, the doors and windows were boarded, but more of a deterrent than the wire and boarding were signs nailed all around that read: ‘Fines up to $50,000 and possible jail time to those who are caught trespassing’. Chris and his brother talked endlessly about pulling and prying their way through the wire to get inside and climb the spiraling staircase to the top where the only windows were. They imagined what the inside looked like; lobotomy tools left lying around, random splotches of un-cleaned blood and bone shards on the walls—for no reason at all—but when they thought of what their father would say when they got caught and fined, or worse: put in jail, their thought immediately dissipated into thin air.

This silo wasn’t boarded up at all and seemed to be in better condition than the house. Chris’ nerves had enough and he got all the pictures he needed; since he didn’t even know if this farm would have any potential for his story. It was time to go.

The digital clock on his dashboard told him that a little less than an hour had past; Katrina should be back at Mama’s any minute now. On his way back through the forest, he saw a man crouched down behind a tree. His heart jumped until he recognized the scruffy beard and furrowed brow. Ugh, Jerrid Chris thought. Must be out on the prowl for Zombies. Maybe he should get a real job. He was with another man that was about the same size and stature as Jerrid. He was crouched too, both staring at the car as it drove by. Chris knew he’d be grilled about his presence in the forest next time he ran in to Jerrid but for now Chris just waved at the men and kept driving.

6.

Mama’s apartment was empty when Chris let himself in. After searching the cupboards for a glass, he filled it with tap water and walked in to the living area. He was drawn to the fireplace where Mama had a few nick-knacks and small, framed pictures. Most of them were of what Chris assumed were Katrina’s parents, aunts and uncles. On the left corner of the self, squished between two stones were about eight dusty old books: classics like ‘White Fang’, ‘Robin Hood’, some Leo Tolstoy’s and Jane Austin, but what caught his eye was a photo album in between. The spine was almost the same worn brown canvas as the other books so it blended well, but up close and with no title it stuck out like a sore thumb.

Chris pulled it out and blew the dust off the top. He set down his water on the table and sat in one of the chairs, resting the album on his lap. The book was old and had been thumbed through many times; the photo sleeves were starting to rip at the seams and the pages were coming out. He very gently turned each page looking at the short photographic history of Katrina when she was no older than six years old. She looked so much happier when she was young and free. Her skin was golden from the times playing outdoors and her hair was either pulled back with a ribbon tied into a bow, or flowing over her shoulders in sun-streaked ringlets.

Her parents were well kept and nicely dressed. Katrina’s dad was easy to spot; he looked so similar to Katrina: they had same facial structure and chin dimple—something you always get from your father. He was a lot slimmer and taller than Chris had imagined. He was always pictured with a cigar; if it wasn’t in his mouth, it was in his hand. Katrina’s mother was always in the background watching Katrina and She always kept her hands busy with glass of iced-tea or a cigarette. Her choice of clothing was either a floral printed dress or a pair of slacks and loose fitting silk blouse. It was hard to see her resemblance to Katrina because she always wore large sunglasses. The few photos of Mama were of her playing with Katrina and another girl about the same age as Katrina. This other little girl caught Chris off guard: she looked identical to Katrina. They could have been twins, but Katrina never mentioned a sister. Chris pulled out a picture that had the little girl sitting on a man’s lap. The man had the same look as Katrina’s father but looked slightly more worn and alot stronger. On the back of the photo had the names ‘Clint’ and ‘Emily’ written on it. The little girl was Katrina’s cousin.

They look so happy Chris thought. He imagined them all playing in the massive yard in the photos; Mama bringing them iced-teas and the parents laughing while the girls ran through the sprinkler.

Once Chris had flipped through all the pages of the photo album, he reached over the armchair to put it back between the books on the shelf. His reach wasn’t long enough and the book fell to the ground landing on its spine. It opened up to the middle of the album. “Shit.” Chris bent down and noticed a folded piece of paper emerging from the back cover. He slowly picked up the book and turned to the back. The last page had been glued to the back creating a small pocket. He carefully pulled the paper out. It was an article from The Lexington Times:

Katrina Marie Jones and Emily Leah Jones

Fraternal twin girls born November 12, 1988

To the founders and owners of The Forest Hills

Logging Company.

Both weigh less than six pounds each and are

Expected to be in perfect health.

The family is overjoyed at these new additions as

James Jones says: “We couldn’t be more overjoyed with

Our two girls. My wife had an amazing birth and I'm so proud of her.

We just can’t wait to get them home.”

The Jones’ haven’t been available for comment since,

But the local Dr. says: “they’re all relaxing, recovering

And getting to know their new additions”.

Chapter 5 continued.

.....They got up and made their way through the tables of curious faces. “It was nice meeting you Mary-Jo”
“Oh you too doll. See you guys soon” Mary-Jo waved as they left the café.

When they got outside, Jerrid was leaning against the building. He immediately spotted Chris and Katrina, pushed off the wall with his foot and dropped his cigarette.
“Hey Kid.” He shouted.
Chris froze when he heard the deep voice. Here we go. Him and Katrina spun around in unison.
“Katrina, I haven’t seen you in what, three years and you just walk past me?”
Chris was relieved that he wasn’t the ‘kid’ Jerrid was referring to.
“I’m sorry Jerrid, I didn’t even recognize you. Your hair’s so long now. And a beard; I never thought you’d be one to grow a beard!” Katrina felt the urge to hit him on the arm. She did and felt stupid immediately after.
Jerrid rubbed his chin a couple times before replying. “Ha, yeah. A lot of things are different around here now.” He glared at Chris who was standing behind Katrina. Chris waved and nodded just after Jerrid looked back at Katrina.
“Yeah I guess.” “Um, hey can I get a cigarette off you for the walk?”
“I guess I’m not the only one that’s changed.” Jerrid took a pack of Camels out of his pocket. “Don’t tell your grandmother.”
“I would never.”
“How is the old woman?” Jerrid asked as he handing Katrina the lighter.
“She’s good.” Katrina exhaled. “You know how tough Mama is!”
“Yeah, I would never mess with her. She’s taken care of me in the worst of times.” Jerrid chuckled.
Katrina nodded “I’ve gotta run by Clint’s then take Chris here to see the town. It was good seeing you and I’m sure we’ll see you again.”
“Ok kid. Be careful. Don’t wander too far out of town. I can’t have any dead or missing Katrinas around here. It was good seeing you! We’ve missed you around here.”
Chris’ jaw almost hit the ground; this huge man was not the same person he met yesterday. Jerrid gave Chris a warning glare, which said ‘I may like her, but I don’t like you—yet’.

Katrina turned and started to walk away, she shouted back: “You’ll save me before that happens.” She meant it; Jerrid and Gregory always seemed to be in the right place at the right time.

Chris jogged in front of Katrina and turned facing her, walking backwards. “So does Jerrid have a twin named Jerrid? Because that IS NOT the Jerrid I met last night!”
“No, but he has very long days and I’m sure you can imagine that zombie hunting is not the easiest job—especially when there’s not any zombies. You probably just met him near the end of his shift. He’ll grow on you I’m sure.”
Chris fell back and walked along-side Katrina. I don’t think he’s the one that needs to do the growing. “So we’re going to Clint’s?”
“I was going to stop by my uncle’s and see if I can catch him or Mama. I don’t think you should come with me this time.”
“Bu—“
“Next time I promise.” Katrina started to walk away. She needed to show Chris he wasn’t welcome—this time—and make sure the coast was clear.
“What am I suppose to do? I thought you were going to be my tour guide.”
Katrina shrugged. “Sorry, I won’t be too long. I promise. I’ll meet you back at Mama’s in like an hour.”
That was weird. Chris was majorly confused. He walked towards Mama’s trying to figure out what he should do. When he reached his car in front of the apartment building he reached in his pocket and took out the car keys. He looked to his right at the forest and decided he would go see the forest then take a quick drive around town.

In about six blocks he arrived at the edge of the forest and realized he hit a wall; the road ended at the trees and there were only foot trails leading in. Chris looked from the left: Building and trees, to the right: another building and more trees. He sighed and threw the car into reverse. He drove into a gravel alley behind a building to turn around and go back towards town but noticed the alley curve towards the forest. Chris thought this was odd and wanted to check it out, if anything just to see what it was leading to. The gravel road turned into a dirt road and he was suddenly surrounded by trees.
The road seemed endless and the trees never stopped. It was a monotonous view but he continued driving slowly for five minutes and to his surprise he found what looked like another road branching out from the main path, except this path was only two tire tracks, barely visible under a cover of leaves and was leading into an even more dense brush. Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in awhile He thought. Slowly he turned the wheels down the tire-tracks and cautiously continued. The path was barely drivable and Chris had a hard time following it. Once he reached the end of the tracks it opened up into an area no bigger than a school gym. Chris could see patches of gravel underneath and assumed it must have been a drive-way once because behind it was an old dilapidated cabin, still intact, but the paint was long gone, the wood was peeling and the windows were all cracked and covered with plastic trash bags from the inside. Lines of wire created a fence, which surrounded the property farther than the eye could see. Many autumns had passed here and left their leaves covering the ground and cabin.

Chris stopped and turned off the car. He thought about just turning around, but curiosity got the better of him. He got out of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition and the door slightly open—just incase. He walked across the driveway through the damp leaves and looked around realizing he was really alone; all he could hear was the leaves blowing in the breeze making a light shuffling sound. When he got closer he noticed the typical signs that were found on lonely properties: ‘No trespassing’, ‘Stay away’, ‘Beware of dogs’, ‘Fence gives electric shock’. Electric shock? He looked back at the wire running around the property. He remembered he had brought his camera with him and quickly ran back to the car to grab it.

He took pictures of the signs, the cabin, the fence and random shots of the property, which only turned out as endless amounts of trees.
He wanted to get closer to the house to see if he could take a look inside, but the fence--which was accused of being electric--was at least ten feet from the walls of the cabin. He got as close to the fence as he could without touching it. He thought it was past its days of holding an electric charge, but still didn’t want to take any chances.

The cabin was in worse shape than it looked; certainly it was playing host to numerous kinds of bugs and maybe even some animals judging by some of the holes in the foundation. He took pictures of that to so he could ask Katrina about it when he got back.

Beginning Chapter 5; sorry guys it's a Loooong one. and definitely un-edited

......
5.
Chris rolled over into the sunlight: he forgot to close the curtains last night. Mama’s baking had penetrated the entire apartment and Chris knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep with the smell of fresh bread teasing his nostrils. He got up to have a shower so there would be enough hot water by the time Katrina needed it.
He snuck out of his room and into the bathroom; taking his toiletry bag and the towel that Mama had left him.

Katrina lay awake following the sunbeams from the window crawl over her bed; breaking every time a bird passed by. She held her hand in the light trying to focus on the heat from the sun.
She heard a door open and close very lightly. Mama’s already awake baking. Must be Chris. She thought. The clock beside her bed read six am. What’s he doing up this early? She perked up her right ear—her better ear due to a childhood firework accident—to listen closely to his footsteps. The bathroom door closed and the shower started.

After Chris was clean and dry, he went back into his room and there was a warm piece of buttered cinnamon bread sitting on the computer desk with a note that read “Good morning ducky. Good-luck today and don’t give up. M” He took his empty notebook out of his bag and put the pink sticky on the front page.
He ate the bread in less than three bites and spent the next hour making notes about what Katrina had told him the day before. He wrote about the scratch marks in Mama’s apartment, and Mama herself. He highlighted his meeting with Jerrid and made an outline of what he needed to do while he was in Forest Hills.

At seven thirty, Chris heard Katrina’s door open. Mama had already left—he heard the apartment door open, close and lock behind her. Chris quickly got up and met Katrina in the kitchen. He barely recognized her with her hair pulled back off her face.
“You were up early this morning. Did you not sleep well?” She asked.
“Yeah, the sun was bright this morning. I slept pretty good but it’s always weird waking up in a new place.”
“How were your dreams?” Katrina smiled.
“Not bad, a little weird, but I think that was just because I got too much sleep.”
“Oh, Okay. That’s good. Anyways, are you ready to go to Mary-Jo’s? What’s your plan anyways? Are you just going to march in there and be like ‘tell me everything that happened to you’?”
“Well yeah, kind of. I think I’m a fairly friendly person. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes of course, but the people of Forest Hills don’t really take kindly to newcomers.”
“I noticed. So what do you expect me to do then?” He asked.
“I think that we should go in together, have a coffee, see how the people react and then you can judge your approach to the town.”
“OK, shall we.” Chris headed to the front door and let Katrina pass through first.

At the bottom of the stairs, the fingernail markings were still there; it wasn’t a dream. Chris asked Katrina “What are these?”
“That’s a memory from an incident. I’ll let Mama tell you about that one.”
They walked on a diagonal path across the wide sidewalk, a road and another sidewalk. Mary-Jo’s was a small café kiddy-corner to the church. Even though it was like all the other buildings: brick with apartments above, Mary-Jo’s had more windows allowing the patrons to be surrounded by light.
When they got inside, it felt more like a diner than a café. There was a counter filled with fresh pastries—including Mama’s bread-- and a till immediately at the front. The room had lots of tables and at those tables, a lot of people.
Katrina passed through searching the room for an empty table. She found one by a window but tucked in a corner almost behind the long counter. Chris followed and waited for her to lay her purse over the edge of the chair before they approached the counter to order. A short woman with frizzy blonde hair and sun-aged skin took one look at Katrina and yelled: “Oh my lord! Gerry come here, it’s Katrina: the Jones’ girl. GERRY!”
“Hi Mary-Jo. How are you?” Katrina replied.
A man who was even shorter than Mary-Jo and thought side-burns would make up for the lack of hair on his head, came sprinting around the corner from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his already filthy apron. “My word!” He stopped dead in his tracks. When he composed himself, he continued around the counter to give Katrina a hug. “We knew you were back, but we didn’t think we would see you this soon. Oh how you’ve grown.”
Chris looked back at Mary-Jo who was smiling and looked like she was about to burst into tears just looking at the embrace.

“This is my friend Chris.” Katrina said throwing Chris into the fire. “He’s writing an article about what happened here—the truth about what happened here.” Katrina knew that Mary-Jo and her husband Gerry would be willing to tell all about what happened. They were the gossip queen and king of Forest Hills.

Chris wasn’t sure if he should be grateful to Katrina for this introduction so he just smiled and said “nice to meet you”.
“Oh really?” Mary-Jo asked brushing her hair back and posed on the counter pushing her over-sized bosom forward as if there were cameras around.
“Yes, I’m looking forward to talking to as many people from Forest Hills so I can get a better understanding of what happened. I actually didn’t know the truth of what happened here until Katrina told me. I thought I was coming down to inter—“
“You can talk to us anytime doll. Right Gerry? Just not during working hours ‘kay.”
Chris nodded.
“Well, what can we get y’all to drink? Do you want any pie or food? We have eggs and--”
“Mary-Jo, Katrina’s been here before.” Gerry interrupted
“Heavens I know, it’s just been so long!” Mary-Jo clicked her tongue and smiled with her head to the side as if she was admiring a sunset.
“I think just two coffees?” Katrina looked inquiringly at Chris. He nodded.
“It’s on us! You kids have a seat. I’ll bring it to you. ” Gerry said flipping the back of his hands at them to shoo them away.

Katrina led the way back to their table. She sat down and waited for Chris to adjust his tall stature into the small chair. They glanced around the room and noticed Mary-Jo already making rounds, whispering in each table’s ear. When Mary-Jo was done and her bosom was straightened, each patron slowly glanced over at Chris.
“So, this is it.” Katrina started, not knowing how to continue.
Chris looked around taking in the café: a small little place where, despite the big windows was rather dark inside. The people looked like they were just stopping by for their morning breakfast before going to work on their farms, flannel was the choice of shirt and even a few women had red flannel jackets. Everyone was sitting on the edge of their chair ready to run on a drop of a hat. “This is what?” He asked, looking at Katrina quizzically.
“The town. The survivors. I recognize everyone in here, whether they recognize me or not. They’ve all been affected in someway by what happened.”

Chris looked around the room trying to imagine what each of the people went through. He studied their faces. All of which were his definition of normal but something about their eyes had trauma stricken through them and the way they stared at him made him feel uncomfortable and unwelcome. “These people don’t want me here do they.”
“Probably not, to be honest. Like I said: after what happened no one is welcome here. Some of them probably don’t even want the people from Colorado to come back. ” Katrina took a sip of her coffee and everyone averted their glare when she looked at them.
“That’s sad. You guys are survivors too.” He took one more glance around the room and felt a pang of anxiety in his chest. He had never felt more like an outsider than now. Maybe it wouldn’t be in his best interest to just approach people and ask them their story. He was going to have to gain their trust first.

Mary-Jo walked over, her huge bosom bouncing with each step. But then there are some people more than willing to talk to me. Chris thought. Mary-Jo set down the two cups of coffee. “So, Mary-Jo when is a good time for me to come by and talk to you and Gary?”
“Well, we usually finish up here around six and we’re home around six thirty. We’re having meat pie the day after tomorrow if you’d like to join us then?”
“That sounds great. Thank you. Will it be alright with Gerry? ”
“Oh, He’ll be fine. And of course you and your grandmother are welcome to come as well.” Mary-Jo politely directed at Katrina.
“Thank you I’ll speak with my grandmother.”

Mary-Jo puffed her hair higher as she went bouncing away.
“Speaking of which: where is your grandmother?” Chris asked. “Her bread is here I noticed, but she’s not.”
“She probably went to my uncle Clint’s. Mama takes extra care of him since they only have each other. She goes over there practically every day to have coffee with him before he goes to work.”
“What does he do?”
“He works at the lumber mill.”
“ Is that where most of the people work—with Lumber?”
“I suppose so. If they don’t run the shops, then they probably do something with wood.”
“What did your parents do?” Chris was using his ‘soft approach’ tactic to try and get information about what happened to her parents. Katrina noticed and played along. “My dad got the lumber company and mill when my grandfather died. He ran that for years until he got tired of it and sold it to the Dawes family for a good amount of money. My mom spent her time gossiping with the other women in town and coming up with illnesses that kept her from spending time with us. She was a good woman though and she did love me. I could just tell. Everyone here loved her too; she was always happy and loved to see everyone. Her and Mama got along well because they were more alike than my father and Mama. I think that’s why my dad married my mom. You know how they say men always want to marry their mother and women want to marry their father.”
“They do?” Chris thought about that. He didn’t think he’d like to marry his mom, but the theory was probably right.

“What was your family like?”
“Hmm, My mom was your typical southern lady: cooking, baking, church going. I never saw her without lipstick on or her hair done. She didn’t work either, but she did a lot for us. My father has always been a workaholic, which made me resent him when I was young, until I grew up and realized everything he did was for our benefit. He treated my mom well and always wanted us to have the best.”
“No siblings?”
“Not anymore.”.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“That’s Okay, it’s been awhile now.”
“Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
“No, I guess not.” If Chris was going to be diving headfirst into the secret lives of random strangers, he should be able to tell Katrina about his brother. Maybe it made him more relatable. “When Isaac was twelve, he was over at a friend’s house and they were playing in the front yard—ball or something. Isaac ran out into the street for some reason and got hit by a car. The driver didn’t stop and we never found out who it was. I was only ten but I looked up to him!”
“Oh my God. That’s horrible. I’m sorry.” Kartina reached out and patted Chris’ arm.
“Thank you. My dad took it harder than any of us. He worked a lot longer and harder after that, and then he took a job at his head office and moved us from Virginia to New York. That was hard on my mom; all her family and friends were in Virginia.” The conversation had come to noticeable halt. “This coffee is really good!”
“Mmm, I can’t really taste it. Side-effect from the infection.”
“Really? Did the medication cause it or just the infection itself?”
“You know, I never thought about it, but I think just the infection. I can remember losing my taste before I was given medication.”
“Huh. Can I ask now: How did you get infected?
“The day before my parents transformed I was helping my mom in the kitchen. I accidentally burned myself on the oven…” Katrina showed Chris the scar on her arm. It was darker than a normal scar and had a tinge of purple in the middle, like a bruise. “…My mom kissed it better—like she always did—and I think that’s when the infection spread. That’s the only thing I can think of that caused it. Plus this scar has never healed properly and where this purple spot is, it’s extra sensitive and will open up real deep if I hit it too hard or something.”
“So you mean that you got an infection from a kiss as small as a peck? ‘Cause I assume your mom didn’t lick your arm.”
Katrina chuckled. “No, my mom did not lick my arm. But when she kissed things better she always did it three times: ‘one for the pain, one for the tears and one to make sure it heals’ she’d always say. There was so little of the infection spread into me, that’s why I can live with it and don’t transform or have any major symptoms.”

“How did your parents get the infection?”
“No one knows. We think that one of them had it and gave it to the other person. But how that person got it, we don’t know.”
“Where you there when they transformed.”
“Yes, they transformed in front of my eyes but I’ll tell you about that later I’m done with my coffee, shall we get out of here?”
“Sure.” They got up and made their way through the tables of curious faces. “It was nice meeting you Mary-Jo”
“Oh you too doll. See you guys soon” Mary-Jo waved as they left the café.

cont...End of Chapter 4

.....Jerrid didn’t remove his gaze from Chris’ face. Even when he walked towards the apartment door, Jerrid standing in the same spot watching Chris; his hand was supporting his own weight on the trunk of Chris’ rental car. Chris only stopped long enough to see that the rear end of the car was dipping considerably under Jerrid’s weight.

When Chris got inside he felt a sense of relief when he locked the door. He leant against it and rubbed his head feeling the band-aid still gripping his skin. “Ugh” he sighed in embarrassment.
Remembering Mama trying to turn the lights on earlier, he reached for the light switch and flicked it up and down a few times. They all finally flickered on with the buzz of the energy flowing through the circuit. When he looked down, there was a red patch on the third step. 'My blood, I’ll wipe that up later' he thought. When he reached for the railing, he immediately retracted his hand when he saw four long, thin scratches dug into the wood. Chris’ thoughts turned into what he learned watching 'ghostly encounters'-type television shows. His heart dropped when he looked at the opposite railing; there were four more scratches exactly the same. 'Those have to be human!' He thought. He traced the scratches with his own finger-nails until the reality of the situation set in and he raced up the stairs.
“What took you so long?” Mama was sitting on one of the chairs in the living room. He sat down in the chair next to hers, leaving his bag at the front door.
“I ran into a lovely fellow named Jerrid.” Chris said sarcastically. He decided not to ask about the scratches on the wooden railings just yet.
“Oh.” Mama chuckled a high-pitched vibration. “Oh Darling, his intentions are good. You’re just new, so you’re going to raise red flags when they’re on the patrol.”
“They’re on patrol?” Chris said. “And there’s more of him?”
“Yes honey, we still have patrols even though the situation has been relieved. There’s three of those boys who still go out at night-time these days.”

Katrina came and sat indian-style on the couch.
“What’s with the hunting get-up?” Chris asked.
“Was he wearing his rifle?” Katrina interjected.
Chris shook his head, "um, I don't know. Maybe." He faintly remembered seeing a strap across Jerrid’s chest.
“Sometimes they’ll go deep into the forest and make sure there isn’t any stragglers.”
Chris nodded. “Stragglers?”
“Yes Baby.” Mama replied. “Somehow the infected found out they were more comfortable in the shade of the forest and they could come in to town when they were really hungry.”
“But the infected haven’t figured out how to coincide with each other yet so there’s only usually one or two together in the forest. When they’re in the village though, they seem to find each other and hunt in large groups.” Katrina watched Chris’ reaction. “It’s a bit more fun for Jerrid and Gregory when there’s only a couple in the forest; it's like, a game.”

Chris felt like he should be writing this all down but didn’t want to offend Mama. Instead he just nodded and tried to commit it to his already exhausted memory.
“Don’t look so scared baby. You don’t need to worry about it.” Mama comforted. “So, tell us again why your hear.” She popped a chocolate almond in her mouth and covered her lips with the crook of her finger.
“Well…” Chris started, “I just started a job at this paper in New York and the news editor wanted to do a piece on the Forest Hills plague and the people that were still infected, who were returning from Colorado. But since accepting the piece I now realized—with the help of Katrina—that this was not a plague at all.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Mama smiled. She squeezed her eyes together and grinned at Katrina. “But I guess in some sorts it was and with a few word games the government was able to cover it up as that.”
“I’m hoping to get some interviews tomorrow. Can you help me?”
“I would love to darling but I don’t know if that’s such a good idea for me to help; don't want to give people another reason to gossip you know. But I can tell you that there’s a few willing-to-talk people that hang out down at the coffee shop on the opposite corner of this building. It’s called Mary-Jo’s”
“That’s a start. Thank you.” Chris smiled at Mama and Katrina.

Mama and Katrina didn’t say anything else until Mama excused herself and announced that she was going to go to bed.
“Old ladies like me don’t stay up very late anymore. You kids don’t stay up too late either. I’m sure you’ve had a long day.” She started walking down the hall and turned around. “Oh Chris, I never asked you: How long are you staying here for? In Forest Hills I mean.”
“Only for a long weekend. If that’s Okay with you?”
“Of course Ducky, I was just wondering. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.” She turned into her room and shut the door.

Chris turned back to Katrina. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Katrina asked.
“For being a part of letting me stay here. It can’t be fun having someone come in and take over your time alone with your grandmother.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s probably good having you here; being a buffer for the beginning. Plus she likes you.”
“It seems like she likes everyone.” Chris was taking a dig at Jerrid, but didn't know if Katrina picked up on it.
“She tries to find the best in all people, but she definitely likes you.” Katrina got out of the chair. “I think I’m going to go to bed now too. We can get up early tomorrow and introduce you to the locals if you like.”
“Yes, I would like that. Say seven-thirty?”
“Sounds good. Good-night.”
“See you in the morning.” Chris got up, grabbed his bag and made his way to his new bedroom. Even though it was early, he was knackered and welcomed the bed with open arms. He knew that he should do some writing, but decided to start tomorrow when he had a clear mind. He fumbled with the futon until he got it laid flat and put the sheets on. He stripped down to his boxers and the t-shirt he had on, climbed under the covers and thought about the day's stories; afraid he would have nightmares. He fell asleep almost immediately.

***
Katrina fell asleep with her clothes on. She had intentions of staying awake just long enough to re-familiarize her self with her old room; she didn’t want to wake up and not know where she was-- like so many times before. Her exhausted body had another plan.
She tossed and turned all night, the familiar and re-occuring dream of her parents snuggled up in their favorite chairs in the front room. It was their favorite room because of the massive granite fireplace. Katrina noticed the fire was almost out; the last pieces of wood were nothing but glowing lumps of ash. Her family lived in the oldest house in Forest Hills. It had been passed down from generations-- since her relatives had built it and founded most of Forest hills. Most of the house was still intact with the original features. The only thing that had been changed were the wooden window sills and some floor panels that had disintegrating from being food for pesky termites. The walls in this particular room matched the dark burgundy of the rugs. Katrina walked towards the old leather chairs turned towards the fire, their backs to her as she came into the room.
She had just come home from visiting Mama and she was early as requested by her parents.
Katrina announced her arrival “Hey.”
There was no movement from the chairs. Her mom who was usually knitting or crocheting was not moving and the yarn and needles were on the floor haphazardly. Her dad’s book was draped across his knee as if he had fallen asleep. Katrina thought this was odd since she had never seen her dad fall asleep anywhere other than his bed, and her mom was a very organized person, especially when it came to her crafts. She brushed it off as a first and moved a little closer. That’s when she saw both her parents jerk and stiffen.
“Mom, dad?” She became worried and unwillingly prepared her muscled for a possible escape.
Without warning, her parents pounced up from the chairs, searching until their fourth sense honed in on her. When they locked on, both simultaneously turned and soared across the room at Katrina in one leap. On the second pounce—the one that she knew would be fatal if she didn't move-- Katrina whipped around and threw herself through the big wood doors she had just come, closing them behind her until she felt them click shut.
She was aware of the fall breeze and was lucky she had her coat and shoes still on.
“GREGORY!” She yelled. Nothing. “GREGORY!” She screamed again, this time with a blood-curdling tone. She was running towards the bell tower hoping to find someone on watch. After she hopped the fence into the cemetery, hoping to slow them down, she turned around and saw the two figures gaining on her, running endlessly without tiring. “GREGORY!” She kept sreaming until she saw him running towards her. Thank god! She thought. She experienced an extreme burst of energy and all of a sudden felt like she had been lifted from the ground and was flying.

Katrina would never forget Gregory’s reaction: he had stopped, in shock of what he was seeing: Katrina’s own parents, flesh and blood chasing after her for their next meal. “No, it can’t be!” He said out-loud.
“GREGORY YOU HAVE TO SHOOT THEM!” Katrina had already accepted the reality that she was parentless and If they didn't die, she would be viciously ripped apart--eyes first--and turned into food.
Without any more hesitation, Gregory pulled the rifle off his back, aimed and fired twice. He didn’t miss. He replaced the rifle on his back just in time for Katrina to fall lifelessly at his feet. She started weeping into her hands.
Gregory bent down and wrapped his arms around her. Katrina could feel warm drops falling onto her neck: Gregory’s tears. “I’m sorry Katrina. I’m sorry.” He whispered into her hair.
This was the reality of what happened, but Katrina’s dream always continued on with a different, surreal ending each time:
Gregory tried to protect her with his own body but instead was ripped from her back. When Katrina looked at the spot where Gregory’s body landed, both her parents were hovering over him. The woman looked at the man and he nodded at her. She bowed down to Gregory’s eyes and one at a time, covered each with her mouth sucking them out and viciously chewing on them; shoving the nerves and membranes into her mouth with both of her bloody hands. Gregory was shrieking in pain trying to grab at his face, but the man—Katrina’s transformed father—was holding him down for the woman.
Katrina wanted to run but her legs felt like lead. She didn’t want to scream, but she couldn’t help herself and she yelled “NO!”
Immediately they turned and the man jumped on top of her in one leap. The woman was on top of her just as quickly. Her last sight was Gregory was still screaming, grabbing at his empty eye sockets. An open mouth, smelling of death covered her vision and everything went dark. She jolted awake and realized she was safe in her bed at Mama’s. She wiped the tears off her face and looked at her watch. 3:25 am. She decided to get up and get a glass of water, only to find Mama in the kitchen as well.
“You finally woke-up child.” Mama wrapped her arms around Katrina and they both started to weep.