Quinn turned the knob and pulled the heavy door open, revealing the dark, cluttered space of the garage. He quickly guided Sarah and the children inside, then quietly closed the door behind them, shutting out the horrifying sounds from the house. For a moment, there was near-total silence, broken only by Lily's quiet sobs against her mother's leg.
The air smelled of gasoline and cut grass. The family's minivan was parked in the center of the space. It was their escape.
"Okay," Quinn whispered, his eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through a single grimy window. "We get in the car. I'll get the main door open."
He moved to the wall and pressed the large button for the automatic garage door. Nothing happened. He pressed it again. The power was out. Of course.
"There's a manual release," Mark had told him once. A red cord hanging from the central motor. Quinn found it and gave it a hard pull. There was a loud click as the door disengaged from the chain.
He went to the bottom of the door and tried to lift it. It was heavy, much heavier than he expected. He strained, his muscles burning, and managed to raise it about a foot off the ground. It was incredibly loud, the metal scraping and groaning in the quiet.
"Stop," Sarah said, her voice a strained whisper. "Quinn, stop. It's too loud. They'll hear it."
He let the door fall back into place with a dull thud. She was right. The noise would bring every infected on the street right to them. The car was not an option.
Quinn looked around the garage, his mind racing. There was a side door that led to the backyard. It was a simple wooden door with a standard lock. It was their only way out.
"New plan," he said, keeping his voice as calm as he could. "We're going on foot. Through the yard. We'll climb the back fence."
He led them to the side door and slowly, carefully, turned the lock. He eased the door open just a crack and looked out. The backyard looked empty. It was eerily quiet. The swing set stood motionless. Sarah's vegetable garden was undisturbed. It was their yard, a place where the kids had played just yesterday. Now it felt like hostile territory.
"Okay," he breathed. "We move fast and we stay quiet. Go straight for the back fence. Sarah, you take Lily. I've got Tom."
He tightened his grip on Tom's small body, shifting the baseball bat to his other hand. Sarah nodded, her face still a pale, numb mask. She took Lily's hand, her knuckles white.
"Ready?" Quinn whispered.
He pushed the door open, and they slipped out into the gray afternoon light. The grass was damp under their feet. They moved quickly across the lawn, a strange, desperate procession. Every rustle of leaves, every distant shout, made Quinn's nerves tighten.
They were halfway to the fence when it happened.
To their right stood a large plastic shed where Mark kept his lawnmower and gardening tools. As they passed it, a figure lunged from behind it.
It was a man Quinn didn't recognize, his clothes torn, his face a contorted mask of aggression. He had been crouched there, waiting, completely silent.
The infected man wasn't focused on the adults. His wild eyes locked onto the smallest member of the group. He launched himself directly at Lily.
"NO!" Sarah screamed.
It all happened in a split second. The infected man's hand shot out and grabbed the sleeve of Lily's jacket. Sarah reacted with pure maternal instinct. She didn't hesitate. She threw herself forward, shoving Lily behind her and placing her own body between her daughter and the attacker.
Quinn was already moving, but he was too far away. He put Tom down on the grass. "Stay here!" he yelled, knowing the boy was too terrified to move.
Sarah pushed at the infected man with all her might. He was strong, his grip like steel. He clawed at her, trying to get past her to the child cowering behind her legs. Sarah pushed his head away, her hands on his face. He snapped his jaws, his teeth clicking inches from her skin.
Then, as she shoved him back one final time, he lunged again. His head ducked under her arm, and his teeth sank into the flesh of her forearm.
Sarah cried out, a sharp, piercing sound of pure pain. But she didn't let go. She used her other hand to keep his head down, her body still shielding Lily from the attack.
Quinn reached them. He didn't have space for a full swing. He used the end of the bat like a spear, ramming it into the infected man's side. The man grunted but held on, his jaw locked on Sarah's arm. Quinn swung again, a short, brutal arc that connected with the side of the man's head. He finally released his bite, stumbling back.
Quinn didn't give him a chance to recover. He brought the bat down again, and then again. The man dropped to the grass and lay still.
The entire, violent exchange had lasted less than ten seconds.
Quinn rushed to Sarah, who was cradling her bleeding arm. "Sarah! Let me see!"
"I'm okay," she said, her voice shaking, trying to pull her sleeve down over the wound. "It's just a scratch."
But it wasn't a scratch. Quinn could clearly see the deep, curved punctures of a human bite mark in her arm. Blood was welling up from the wounds, soaking the fabric of her sleeve. They both knew what a bite meant. The knowledge hung in the air between them, a terrible, unspoken fact.
"Mommy, you're bleeding," Lily said, her small voice trembling.
"It's okay, baby. It's okay," Sarah said, trying to force a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Quinn looked around frantically. And his blood ran cold.
"Tom?" he called out.
The spot on the grass where he had left his nephew was empty.
"Tom!" Quinn's voice was sharper now, filled with rising panic. He scanned the yard. The side gate, the one leading to the street, was slightly ajar. During the chaos of the attack—the screaming, the struggle—Tom must have panicked. He must have run.
A fresh wave of screams and crashing sounds erupted from the street just beyond the gate. The pandemonium out there had swallowed him.
"TOM!" Sarah screamed his name, her own injury forgotten. She started to run toward the gate.
Quinn grabbed her, pulling her back. "Sarah, wait!"
"He's out there! My boy is out there!" she cried, struggling against his grip.
Another infected, drawn by her screams, appeared at the broken fence line of their neighbor's yard. Then another. They were coming.
The choice was agonizing, instant, and absolute. They couldn't go after Tom. To run out onto that street now was suicide. To stay here was to be swarmed.
"I'm sorry," Quinn said, his voice thick with the horror of the situation. "Sarah, I am so sorry. We have to go. We have to climb the fence. Now."
He pulled her toward the back of the yard, away from the street, away from where Tom had disappeared. Sarah stumbled along with him, sobbing, her eyes still locked on the gate. Lily ran beside them, crying, holding onto her mother's hand.
They reached the tall wooden fence at the back of their property. It separated their yard from the one behind it.
"Boost me up," Quinn said to Sarah.
She obeyed numbly, linking her hands together. Quinn stepped into them, hoisted himself up, and grabbed the top of the fence. He pulled himself over, dropping down on the other side with a soft thud. The neighbor's yard was empty.
"Okay, Lily first," he called back, his voice low.
Sarah lifted her terrified daughter up. Quinn reached over, grabbed Lily under her arms, and carefully lifted her over the top, setting her down gently beside him.
"Now you, Sarah. Come on," he urged.
She looked one last time toward the front of her house, her face a canvas of unimaginable loss. Her husband was gone. Her son was gone. Her home was gone.
With a final, broken sob, she turned and began to climb. Quinn reached up and helped pull her over. She landed unsteadily on her feet, clutching her wounded arm.
They stood together for a moment in the strange, silent backyard—Quinn, the wounded Sarah, and the crying Lily. They had made it out of their house. They had escaped their yard.
But they had left their entire world behind. They were now just three figures adrift in the overwhelming chaos of a neighborhood that had completely fallen apart.