Survivors Of Saranac Lake

Through the narrow glass beside the entrance, Main Street had become a wall of bodies. The dead pressed between abandoned cars, their clothing stiff with mud and lake water. One wore a red Adirondack chair strapped to his back like a shield. Another dragged a length of chain that scraped sparks from the pavement.

The truck waited across the street.

Between them and it, at least thirty walkers turned toward the building.

Kianna leaned beside him. “That’s not a route.”

“It was five minutes ago.”

“It was never a route.”

A body struck the glass. The pane bowed inward. Kianna flinched but did not step away.

Marc looked past the crowd toward the narrow lane beside the old marina. It led downhill to Lake Flower, then west along the shore toward the cabins. The lane was cluttered with overturned kayaks and snow-faded signs, but it was less crowded than Main Street.

“Waterfront,” he said.

Kianna unfolded the map with shaking fingers. “If we cut behind the marina, we can reach the old cabins. There’s a service road beyond them.”

“Can we get to it?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the one we have.”

The front door cracked.

Marc caught her hand. “Stay behind me. Don’t stop unless I stop.”

They shoved through the rear exit into an alley slick with rain and old leaves. The sudden cold bit through Marc’s sleeves. Somewhere beyond the buildings, the siren wailed again, lower this time, almost like a voice choking on its own breath.

They ran.

Marc heard Kianna behind him, boots striking concrete, map snapping against her coat. He glanced back once. She was pale but steady, her dark hair pulled tight beneath a knit cap. A walker lurched from between two dumpsters.

Marc swung the tire iron before it could turn fully. Metal struck bone. The walker folded against the bricks, fingers scraping at his boot.

“Keep going,” he said.

“I saw it.”

“Then keep going faster.”

They burst onto the marina path. Boats sat high and dry on their trailers, their white hulls streaked with black grime. The lake slapped against the docks. Across the water, a flock of gulls lifted suddenly, screaming.

The first walkers came through the trees behind them.

Kianna pointed. “There.”

A narrow footbridge crossed the inlet toward the service road. Marc sprinted for it, but the bridge ended in a jagged collapse. Half the boards had fallen into the dark water. The remaining section sagged over a gap wide enough to swallow a person.

He stopped so abruptly Kianna crashed into him.

“What?” she demanded.

He pointed.

Behind them, the dead pushed between the boats. One caught its sleeve on a trailer hitch and tore free, leaving a strip of gray fabric fluttering from the metal.

Kianna unfolded the map again. Wind snapped it against her face. “There’s another crossing.”

“Where?”

“North. Past the boathouse.”

“That’s toward them.”

“The service road is on the other side.”

Marc looked at the broken bridge, then at the figures closing through the marina. The lake stretched beside him, black beneath the docks. Water would slow the dead, but it would not stop them. He could already see hands reaching over the railings.

Kianna grabbed his wrist. “Marc.”

He made the decision before fear could make it for him.

“Boathouse.”

They cut between the trailers. Marc shoved a fallen canoe aside, and it clattered across the boards. Every walker in the marina turned toward the sound.

“Subtle,” Kianna said.

“Complain later.”

A dead man in a blue parka lunged from behind a stack of life jackets. Marc drove his shoulder into him. Both of them crashed against a trailer. The man’s teeth snapped inches from Marc’s cheek. Its skin felt cold and waxy beneath his grip.

Kianna struck it with the metal flashlight she carried. Once. Twice.

The walker sagged.

Marc shoved it down and pulled Kianna onward. “You hurt?”

“My arm.”

He caught her elbow as they ran. “Broken?”

“No. Just hit.”

The boathouse door stood open at the end of the dock. They plunged inside. The place smelled of gasoline, wet rope, and rotting wood. Sunlight cut through holes in the roof, striping the floor with pale bars.

For one breath, there was only the sound of their breathing.

Then something moved above them.

Marc looked up.

A walker dropped from the loft and landed on the floor between them. Its jaw hung crooked. A fishing hook had pierced one cheek and trembled when it turned its head.

Kianna backed into the wall.

Marc raised the tire iron, but the walker came too fast. He swung and missed. Its hands closed around his coat, dragging him down. The hook tore free from its cheek with a wet snap.

Kianna screamed his name and drove the flashlight into the side of its skull.

The walker fell across Marc’s legs.

He shoved it away, gasping. Kianna seized his hand and pulled. Together they stumbled through the rear door onto a floating dock.

The boards bucked beneath them. Water surged through the gaps, cold spray striking Marc’s face. At the far end, a narrow ramp climbed toward the north road.

Behind them, walkers poured from the boathouse.

“Go!” Marc shouted.

They ran across the dock. The dead followed, their weight making the whole structure groan. One fell through a broken board and vanished into the lake, but two more kept coming.

The ramp rose sharply. Kianna slipped.

Marc caught her around the waist. “I have you.”

“Don’t let go.”

“I won’t.”

They reached the road just as a pickup truck rolled silently from the trees.

Marc shoved Kianna behind him and lifted the tire iron.

The truck stopped ten feet away. Its driver’s door hung open. No one sat behind the wheel. The vehicle had drifted downhill until a fallen branch wedged beneath the front axle.

Beyond it, the road was blocked by a tangle of vehicles. A school bus lay on its side across both lanes, its windows shattered. Cars had been abandoned nose-to-tail around it. The route to the cabins was sealed.

Kianna stared at the wreckage. “We’re trapped.”

The siren suddenly stopped.

The silence struck harder than the noise.

From the far side of the bus came a single scrape. Then another. Feet moved among the cars.

Marc saw pale faces rise behind the broken windows.

“Not trapped,” he said. “Surrounded.”

The walkers began to climb over the bus.

Kianna looked toward the lake. “Cabins.”

“The road is blocked.”

“Not the road. The shore.”

A narrow strip of land ran between the water and the wreckage, barely wide enough for one person. Trees leaned over it, their roots twisting through the mud. Beyond them, half-hidden among pines, stood a weather-stained cabin with a sagging porch.

Marc measured the distance. The dead were spilling around the bus now, spreading toward them.

“Can you make it?” he asked.

Kianna’s eyes hardened. “Ask me something useful.”

He nodded. “Stay low.”

They left the road and entered the trees.

Branches clawed at Marc’s face. Mud sucked at his boots. Kianna followed with one hand on his shoulder, the map crushed in her fist. Behind them, walkers pushed through the undergrowth, snapping twigs and calling in those hollow, ruined voices.

A hand reached through the branches.

Marc struck it aside. Another walker stumbled from the slope above, sliding on wet needles. Kianna kicked its knee, and it dropped hard enough to crack its skull against a stone.

“Keep moving,” Marc said.

“I’m moving.”

The cabin grew closer. Its windows were dark. The porch sagged toward the lake, and a red canoe lay overturned beside the steps.

Marc reached the door first. It was locked.

He looked back. Three walkers emerged between the trees.

“Move.”

Kianna stepped aside. Marc drove his shoulder into the door. The old wood split around the latch. He hit it again, and the door burst inward.

They fell into the cabin.

Marc slammed the door and shoved a cabinet against it. Kianna dropped the map and braced her back against the wall, breathing through her teeth.

Outside, the walkers reached the porch.

One dragged its fingers across the door.

Marc raised the tire iron, ready for the boards to give way.

Nothing happened.

The dead wandered along the porch, bumping into the railing. One pressed its face to the nearest window. Its eyes were filmed white, but its head tilted as if it could hear them breathing.

Kianna whispered, “Don’t move.”

Marc scanned the room. A stone fireplace. Two overturned chairs. Empty shelves. A rusted woodstove. Dust covered everything except the floor near the rear hallway.

There, in the dust, were footprints.

Fresh ones.

Marc crouched.

The prints came from the back door and crossed the room toward the stairs. They were narrow, made by boots with a split sole. The mud inside them was still dark and wet.

Kianna saw them too. Her expression changed.

“This place isn’t empty,” she whispered.

A floorboard creaked upstairs.

Marc tightened his grip on the tire iron.

The walker at the window turned away. Another began circling the cabin, scraping its nails along the siding.

Kianna reached for his hand, but her fingers stopped just short of it. “We got inside.”

Marc looked at the footprints leading into the darkness above.

“Yes,” he said.

From the second floor came a soft metallic click, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone drawing a breath.

End of chapter one. 39 more chapters in the full book.