Beneath Dark Skies (Rolling Hills Ranch #1)

1. Farron

ONE

FARRON

THE BEGINNING

Day 16

Keep running.

Keep moving.

Don’t stop.

Keep going.

Keep breathing.

Don’t stop.

My mind repeatedly chants the same mantra as I run for my life. I don’t know exactly where I am or how close I am to the ranch, but given that I’m running on foot, I know I have a long way to go. Despite the blister gnawing at my heel, aggravated by the friction against my boot, I can't afford to pause and address it. I have to keep moving.

It’s been two days since I last found water, and that spring was questionable at best. However, I haven’t encountered anything or anyone in days, and even if I had, I wouldn’t trust them for help.

Sixteen days ago, chaos consumed the world, dragging my sanity down with it. One moment, I'm idly watching Twilight for the umpteenth time; the next, I'm hastily stuffing essentials like food, water, and a first aid kit into my backpack, driven by a frantic urge to flee the city.

Everything came to a standstill in an instant. An emergency broadcast warned of a rapidly spreading virus infecting thousands without divulging specifics. Peering out of my apartment window, I witnessed pandemonium as people fled, seemingly under attack. The broadcast urged us to hunker down, promising National Guard evacuation assistance. So, I obeyed, barricading myself in my apartment for five days.

No rescue came.

There were no evacuations.

During those harrowing days of isolation, conditions deteriorated rapidly. First, cell networks became congested as people tried to contact others simultaneously. No matter how often I tried calling my parents or Holden, it wouldn't go through. Then, shortly after that, the power cut out. With electricity gone, wifi had disappeared, too. There was no way to contact the outside world without venturing out. Luckily, I had stocked up on groceries beforehand, but I knew my supplies were limited. I understood that, eventually, supplies would dwindle, and I would be forced to leave the safety of my little nest to survive.

I was reluctant to leave my apartment for anything. No matter how much my gut was screaming at me to go, fear overpowered my better judgment. So, I waited, listening to the cacophony of screams and gunshots outside, hoping for salvation that never arrived.

Eventually, the realization of my new reality crept eerily into my subconscious. To survive in this new world, I would have to save myself.

A few days ago, that realization was a sharp hit to my gut when I found myself jolted awake by a frantic pounding at my door. Heart racing, I slowly got up and peeked into the peephole. There, like something straight out of a nightmare, stood my neighbor, covered in blood. With his fist banging and his voice pleading for me to let him in, I slowly raised my hand toward the deadbolt. Before I could do anything more, a thump sounded against the door, followed by an awful squelching noise. Then, a gunshot. The sound of feet frantically pounding against the floor inched closer and closer. A slight pause, followed by someone grabbing the door handle, aggressively and desperately attempting to force entry into the apartment. Hand covering my mouth, I slowly backed away, my fear eating me alive.

What felt like an eternity later, the footsteps retreated.

An unnerving silence plagued the hall, terrifying me more than everything that had come before it.

Later that day, determined to actually try to do something to get the hell out of there, I made my decision. It was time to go home. Bags packed and fear swallowed down, I left my apartment. Opening the door, I was greeted by a nauseating stench and the sight of my neighbor's lifeless body lying outside my door. His skin looked as though it had a purple hue to it, and his eyes were wide open and unseeing, a single bullet hole in the center of his forehead.

I stepped over the body and made my way downstairs, inevitably having to confront the horrors outside. Blocked roads, abandoned vehicles, and streets strewn with death greeted me. The once vibrant neighborhood now lay silent and lonely. I covered my face to shield myself from the rotting stench of decay and began descending further into the city.

Living in Fort Collins was nothing like living in a bigger city like Los Angeles, but still…the emptiness felt wrong. It felt like an omen of worse things to come. The familiar sidewalks, once bustling with people and filled with children's laughter, were now littered with bodies.

Passing by a sign that once innocuously warned drivers to slow down for children at play, now splattered with blood, was the tipping point. I turned over, shakily bracing my hands against my thighs as I retched out the meager contents of my stomach. If I was ever going to make it to the ranch, I needed to pick up my pace. Wiping my hand over my mouth, I straightened up and took off.

About an hour outside the city, I encountered figures in the distance. Initially, I mistook them for living beings, only to realize they were a horde of...the infected? Zombies? I had witnessed similar scenes outside my apartment, a mere spectator as people were savagely attacked and uncharacteristically bitten. I couldn’t understand how any of this was possible. It felt like I had suddenly been thrust into one of the Resident Evil games Holden and I had played as kids.

I fled from the horde into the woods. Since then, I've kept moving without respite except for brief pauses to find water or scarf down a protein bar. I just want to get home, take a shower, and sleep. I’m trying to keep it together, but I feel like I’m slowly losing it. Whenever I feel like I can take a break and rest, I get proven wrong. It’s been nothing but forest for days as I’ve headed in the direction I think is Northwest… I can only hope I’m going the right way until I find a road or a sign.

I try to keep myself motivated, thinking about the ranch where I grew up and lived most of my life. My real home is near McCall, Idaho, surrounded by rolling mountains, big blue skies, a small lake, and farmland that stretches for miles. Our family has proudly owned the ranch for generations, raising cattle and cultivating deep and meaningful relationships with neighboring farms.

My family is there—my grandparents, parents, and brother. That's where I need to go, where I'll be safe and surrounded by the people I love. As I continue pushing forward, my mind circles in a toxic spiral of guilt and shame. I spoke to my parents the day before the announcement, and it did not end well. It never did lately. Now, I need to return home. I need to make amends and tell them how much I love them. This may be my last chance.

Get your shit together, Farron. Now, nothing else matters. Only survival. Not if you want to get home. Stay focused.

If I continue to head Northwest, I’ll reach home. I stumble to a stop near a large tree and remove my backpack, retrieving my water bottle. I take a moment to look up, trying to survey the sun’s position in the sky, but I can’t quite make it out from the cover of the trees. Wiping the sweat from my brow with trembling hands, I take a long, replenishing gulp. Every inch of me is coated in sweat and grime. I welcome the fleeting sensation of a gentle breeze caressing my face, tousling a few stray strands of hair that escape my braid.

“Just breathe,” I remind myself sternly, focusing on my chest's rhythmic rise and fall.

I start to cap my water bottle when I hear a twig break over my shoulder, causing me to freeze. Is it a zombie? A living person? Either one is terrifying at the moment. I slowly turn to peek around the tree and see a few infected in the distance.

I release a slow, deep breath and focus on the small horde. It looks like they’re heading in the direction I just came from. Turning around to put my water bottle back in my backpack gently, I zip it closed and try not to make a sound. I count to twenty before I pick up and continue running.

Based on what I’ve seen the past few days, they seem to respond to sound, but I haven’t gotten close enough to test this theory. I contemplate the knife I have nestled snugly in a sheath and secured to my belt. Okay, really, it’s still in its original plastic sheath and just thrown into my back pocket–no fancy survival kits here. But when it’s the end of the world, one learns to make do with what they have .

I don’t want to use it, but I have to be ready…

I move quickly, trying to make my way through the woods, hearing the crunch of leaves and pine beneath my footsteps. I can see the tree line starting to thin out ahead. Thank God. I must be close to a road or a building. Keeping my pace even, I’m overjoyed, knowing there will be something, anything, to aid in my journey home. I was beginning to think I would never make it out of these woods.

Lost in my thoughts, I don’t notice the sound coming behind me until it’s too late, and a zombie has grabbed my backpack.