Issue #1 “The First Outbreak”

Chapter 1 – Lakeshore

Lakeshore wasn’t the kind of place that drew visitors. Tucked away between a forested mountain range and a sprawling lake, it was a town of 16,000 people who rarely had reason to leave. The streets were empty by 9 p.m., and if you asked the residents what they loved most, they’d probably say the quiet. No rush-hour traffic. No big-city crime. Just the sound of crickets and the wind rustling through the trees.

It was this stillness that made the night of the outbreak all the more horrifying.

THE ARRIVAL

Ethan Graves was used to lonely roads. His route as a freight trucker often took him through isolated towns like this one—towns you forget as soon as you leave. The kind of places where neon gas station signs are the only lights on the road. His back ached from driving for hours, and his eyelids drooped dangerously. He needed coffee, maybe something stronger to keep him awake for the final stretch.

The gas station at the edge of town was barely lit, one flickering sign buzzing overhead. Ethan parked his truck along the curb and stepped out, tugging his worn leather jacket tightly around himself. The air smelled damp, like it had rained earlier. As he walked inside, the faintest scent of something sour hit his nose—like rotting meat. He paused at the entrance. Maybe something had spoiled in the trash bin outside. He shook it off and walked in.

Inside, Harper Lane stood at the coffee station, pouring herself a cup. She wore dark EMT gear, her boots scuffed, and her eyes shadowed from a long shift. Her face was calm, but her hand twitched slightly as she gripped her cup.

“Rough night?” Ethan asked casually, stepping to the cooler.

Harper exhaled through her nose. “Same as always,” she muttered, sipping her coffee. She didn’t bother to look at him.

Ethan grabbed an energy drink and wandered to the counter. Behind it, the cashier—a man in his sixties named Dale—sat slumped on a stool. His face was pale, and he barely seemed conscious. His breathing was slow and shallow.

“Hey,” Ethan called, knocking on the counter. “You alright, man?”

Dale’s head twitched. His bloodshot eyes cracked open, but they seemed to focus on nothing at all. His lips trembled.

“Dale?” Harper called, stepping closer. She set her cup down and approached the counter. “You look like hell.”

Dale’s head jerked slightly. Then his eyes locked onto her, and he began to rasp—a dry, ragged sound that crackled in his throat.

“I don’t think he’s just sick,” Ethan muttered, stepping back uneasily.

Harper reached for her phone. “I should call—”

Dale lunged across the counter with terrifying speed, fingers clawing for Harper’s throat. She staggered back just in time, knocking over a display of candy bars as she stumbled. Dale’s hands flailed, swiping the air with unnatural strength.

“Jesus!” Ethan barked, stepping forward. He grabbed a metal “Wet Floor” sign and swung it hard, smashing Dale across the side of the head. The old man reeled back—but didn’t fall. Blood streamed down the side of his face, but his expression didn’t change. His eyes remained cold and empty.

“What the hell is wrong with him?” Ethan demanded.

Dale growled—a guttural, unnatural sound—and scrambled over the counter. His nails dragged along the floor as he crawled toward them.

Harper grabbed a shelf rack and shoved it over, pinning Dale beneath a cascade of snacks and cheap souvenirs. “We have to get out of here!” she shouted.

They bolted for the door, bursting into the cold night air.

THE STRANGER

A set of headlights cut through the dark as a black SUV rolled up to the gas station. A woman stepped out, her presence sharp and controlled. Her dark hair was tied back in a low ponytail, and she wore a thick canvas jacket. She reached into her bag, producing a crowbar.

“Who the hell are you?” Ethan asked, still catching his breath.

“Dr. Renee Kessler,” the woman replied, her gaze locked on the gas station. “You’re lucky you made it out.”

“Lucky? That guy’s out of his mind!” Harper snapped.

“No,” Renee said quietly. “He’s infected.”

Before Ethan or Harper could ask more, Dale pushed the broken shelf aside and staggered back to his feet. His head wound still bled freely, but his vacant, predatory stare hadn’t changed.

“You might want to stand back,” Renee said.

She gripped her crowbar tightly, stepped forward, and struck Dale in the skull with practiced precision. There was a sickening crunch, and this time, Dale crumpled to the floor. He didn’t get back up.

“You… you killed him,” Ethan muttered, wide-eyed.

“He was already dead,” Renee said flatly. She wiped the blood from her crowbar with a rag and looked at them both. “I’m an infectious disease specialist. I was on my way to the city when I heard the reports. Whatever this is… it’s spreading. Fast.”

“And you knew how to kill it?” Harper asked, incredulous.

Renee’s expression darkened. “I know enough. But you don’t want to know how bad this gets. Not yet.”

Harper and Ethan exchanged a worried glance.

“We need to get moving,” Renee added. “If Dale was infected, there’s more out there. And if we stay here too long… we won’t make it to morning.”

Harper, Ethan, and Renee fight to escape the gas station, but the infection is already spreading through Lakeshore. What does Renee know, and how much worse is this going to get?

NEXT ISSUE: “The Gathering Storm”

To be continued….