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Chapter 4 and 5: The Night of Fire
The red sky over Palatka was not an omen—it was a warning.
Flames engulfed the old courthouse, licking the night air as smoke choked the streets. The fire spread quickly, consuming what little remained of order. Emergency sirens wailed before sputtering out, one by one, as the power grid failed across the town. The streetlights flickered and died, plunging Palatka into darkness, save for the eerie red glow of burning buildings.
Dr. Henry Wallace stood on the rooftop of the makeshift laboratory on St. Johns Avenue, watching the destruction unfold. The sickness had turned the town into a war zone. Those who had survived the plague—the ones the doctors had deemed "recovered"—had changed in ways no one could explain. They were violent. Unpredictable. Their eyes burned with something inhuman.
"We need to move," Dr. Vanessa Kline said urgently, gripping his arm. "If we stay here, we die here."
Wallace exhaled, rubbing his temples. He had spent his life in Palatka, but this wasn’t the town he knew anymore. It was something else. Something haunted.
A loud bang echoed from the street below.
A group of men and women—gaunt, glassy-eyed, and covered in lesions—stood in the road, staring up at the lab. Their bodies twitched with erratic spasms. Some of them muttered under their breath, their words unintelligible. Others simply stood, their heads tilted unnaturally as if listening to something no one else could hear.
Then, one of them screamed.
It was a sound of pure agony, primal and raw, like an animal being gutted alive. The others joined in, their voices creating an unholy cacophony that made Wallace's stomach churn.
“They know we’re here,” whispered Dr. Raj Patel, gripping a metal pipe like a weapon. His face was pale, his eyes wide with fear. “And they don’t want us to leave.”
Vanessa backed away from the rooftop’s edge. “We have to go now.”
The pounding on the doors below grew louder.
The survivors inside the lab scrambled, gathering what supplies they could. Medical records, blood samples, experimental treatments—all of it was shoved into duffel bags. There was no time for anything else.
Wallace caught sight of a worn map of Palatka pinned to the wall. His fingers traced a familiar landmark—the abandoned Seminole Power Plant by the river.
“That’s where we go,” he said, his voice low but firm. “If we can get there, we might have a chance.”
“What’s at the plant?” Vanessa asked.
Wallace hesitated. “A rumor. But right now, I’ll take a rumor over dying in this town.”
The sound of shattering glass rang through the air as the first of the infected broke into the building.
“We move now!” Patel shouted.
The team ran.
Down the emergency stairwell, past overturned desks and bloodstained walls. The main exit was blocked—bodies and debris piled high—so they took the back alley.
As they emerged into the night, the burning town loomed before them.
Palatka was no longer a place of the living.
It was a graveyard that just hadn’t finished burying its dead.
Chapter 6: The River of the Damned
The survivors sprinted through the burning ruins of Palatka, their breath ragged, their bodies pushed to the brink of exhaustion. The alley behind the lab led them toward the riverfront, where the air was thick with smoke and the distant sound of screams. The town was no longer dying—it was dead.
The infected were everywhere.
Figures lurked in the shadows between collapsed buildings, their eyes reflecting the flickering flames. Some stood motionless, whispering to themselves, their heads twitching as if caught in an unseen conversation. Others were more aggressive—stalking, lunging, attacking anything that moved.
"We need to get to the docks!" Dr. Henry Wallace shouted, gripping the strap of his duffel bag. "If we can make it to the water, we might be able to find a boat!"
Vanessa Kline glanced over her shoulder. "And if there isn’t one?"
"Then we swim," Patel said through gritted teeth.
Gunshots rang out in the distance. Someone was still fighting. Somewhere in the chaos, people were still trying to survive. But Wallace knew it wouldn't last. The town was collapsing, its streets consumed by madness.
As they reached the St. Johns River, the group skidded to a stop.
The water was wrong.
The river had always been dark, murky, filled with alligators and the scent of rot—but now, it reeked of something else. A thick, unnatural black film coated the surface, drifting in slow, sinister patterns.
"What the hell is that?" Vanessa whispered.
Wallace crouched down, his heart pounding. He dipped a gloved hand into the water and lifted it, watching the black substance slither between his fingers.
"It's in the water," he muttered. "The sickness. It’s in the damn water."
A guttural growl sounded behind them.
Patel turned first. "Oh, God—"
The infected were charging.
The group had seconds to react. Wallace grabbed a rusted chain from the dock, swinging it wildly as the first attacker lunged. The chain snapped against the infected man’s shoulder, but he barely flinched. His mouth gaped open unnaturally wide, as if something inside him was pulling apart his jaw.
Then, without hesitation, he jumped into the river.
The others followed.
One by one, the infected plunged into the blackened water, disappearing beneath its surface. But they did not drown.
They floated.
Their bodies convulsed, their veins darkening, their eyes rolling back. Whatever was in the water was changing them—evolving them.
Vanessa grabbed Wallace’s arm. "We have to move—now!"
The group sprinted along the dock, searching desperately for an escape.
Then Patel pointed. "There!"
At the very end of the pier, half-submerged in the sludge, was an old fishing boat. The paint was peeling, the motor looked barely functional, but it was something.
They leapt onto the boat, throwing their bags aboard as Patel fumbled with the controls.
"They're coming!" Vanessa shouted.
Wallace looked back.
The figures in the water were changing. Their bodies twitched unnaturally, their skin hardening like chitin, their fingers elongating into claws.
They rose from the water, their movements unnatural, their hollow eyes locked onto the boat.
Patel yanked the motor’s pull cord. Nothing.
He yanked it again. Still nothing.
"Patel—" Wallace started.
A third pull.
The engine roared to life.
The boat lurched forward just as the first creature lunged onto the dock, its elongated fingers digging into the wood. Its face, once human, now bore something alien—a gaping maw filled with writhing tendrils.
Wallace grabbed an oar and swung.
The impact sent the creature staggering back, just as the boat pulled away from the dock.
The survivors gasped for breath, the boat cutting through the diseased river, leaving the burning town behind.
But Wallace knew the truth.
Palatka was gone.
And whatever had taken its place was coming for them.
Chapter 7: The Black Wake
The boat sputtered and groaned as it cut through the thick, sludge-coated waters of the St. Johns River. The diseased current lapped at the hull like something alive, whispering in the night air. Wallace gripped the edge of the vessel, his knuckles white, watching the shoreline fade behind them. Palatka was burning, its streets devoured by fire and madness. But what haunted him most was the water.
He glanced at his gloved hand, where remnants of the black sludge still clung to his fingertips. It moved.
It was alive.
"Where are we even going?" Vanessa Kline asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She was soaked in sweat, her face streaked with soot and grime.
Wallace exhaled. "The Seminole Power Plant. It’s abandoned, but it still has backup generators. If we can get them running, we can send out a distress signal."
Patel grunted as he kept his hands on the wheel, guiding the boat through the treacherous river. "You think anyone's listening?"
Wallace didn't answer.
They all knew the truth.
Help wasn't coming.
As they moved further downriver, the air grew thicker, heavier. The normal sounds of night—crickets, frogs, the occasional splash of an alligator—were gone. Only silence remained, broken by the rhythmic sloshing of the river against the boat.
Then, something thumped against the hull.
Vanessa flinched. "What the hell was that?"
Wallace peered over the edge.
A body floated by.
Its skin was stretched taut over its bones, its eyes open, black ichor seeping from its mouth.
Then another.
And another.
Dozens of corpses drifted in the river, their forms twisted and half-consumed by whatever was lurking in the water. Some still moved, their fingers twitching, their lips murmuring silent prayers.
One of them turned its head.
Its hollow, sunken gaze locked onto Wallace.
Then, it lunged.
A hand shot up from the water, fingers elongating into something not human. It grabbed the boat, pulling itself upward, its flesh peeling away to reveal something writhing beneath.
Wallace barely had time to react before Patel slammed the engine throttle forward.
The boat lurched, throwing them backward as the creature lost its grip and disappeared beneath the wake.
Vanessa sat up, gasping. "Jesus Christ, what was that?"
Wallace stared at the river. "Not human anymore."
Patel wiped sweat from his forehead. "We cannot stop. Not for anything. Not until we're out of this nightmare."
The boat pressed on, the shoreline passing in a blur of trees and overgrown ruins.
Then, in the distance— the Seminole Power Plant.
The massive cooling towers stood against the night sky, their skeletal remains half-hidden in the mist. The plant had been decommissioned for years, left to rot on the edge of the river. But it still had power. Still had shelter.
Wallace turned to Patel. "Get us close, but keep the engine running. We don’t know what’s waiting for us in there."
Patel nodded, guiding the boat toward the plant's rusted dock.
The air was still.
Too still.
Wallace could feel it in his bones.
Something was watching.
Something was waiting.
And as they stepped off the boat onto the dock, the shadows within the plant began to move.
To be continued...