Not a single word had been spoken for over an hour. Each of them had cried, sometimes on their own, sometimes together, the hollow sounds of their sobs all but mirroring the low moans from outside. The dead were brutally persistent, still pushing and beating and crying against the back door even now, despite the heartache they had already caused. Inside, the corpses of their slain brothers and sisters remained on the floor where they’d fallen. After twenty-four hours in their company, the place reeked of their infection, but none of the survivors had the stomach to move them. Shaun slammed his fist on the table. “Fuck!” he yelled, fresh tears breaking from his eyes. He still couldn’t believe it. Jamie—his only son, for Christ’s sake—had been quarantined. It was too dangerous for him to remain among them. He could turn at any time, day or night, so they’d been left with no choice but to lock the boy in the garage.
