{"id":3771,"date":"2019-02-23T16:59:00","date_gmt":"2019-02-24T00:59:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/?p=3771"},"modified":"2019-02-23T16:59:11","modified_gmt":"2019-02-24T00:59:11","slug":"elixir-red-plague-1-chapter-one","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/?p=3771","title":{"rendered":"Elixir (Red Plague #1) Chapter One"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
Enjoy this free sneak peek of Elixir’s 1st chapter!<\/h5>\n\n\n\n

Elixir<\/em><\/a> (Red Plague #1)<\/em><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Written by Anna Abner<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Copyright 2014 by Anna Abner<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
\"Elixir1800x2700\"<\/a><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Back Cover Blurb:<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

The red plague has devastated the human race, turning billions of people into zombies with red eyes and an insatiable hunger for human flesh. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The 212R virus sweeps through the population so quickly a possible cure is left to rot. Seventeen-year-old Maya Solomon may be the only survivor who knows where it is. But to reach the lab in Raleigh, North Carolina she will have to outrun the infected boy tracking her every step and cross into a city swarming with monsters.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chapter One<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

A buzzing circular saw woke me five minutes before my alarm was supposed to go off. Instant, achy terror consumed me. I scrambled out of bed in my PJs and crouched at the end of the hall, peeking around the corner into the living room beyond the foyer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDad?\u201d I hissed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He stood, hands on hips, in front of our big screen TV staring at local news.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I sagged against the wall in relief. For a moment I\u2019d thought\u2026 But no. We weren\u2019t being attacked by red-eyed plague victims.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad hadn\u2019t heard me, but around and between his arms I watched the agitated news anchor struggle through her report.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf you are in a heavily infected area,\u201d the hollow-eyed brunette read off the teleprompter, \u201cyou are instructed to shelter in place. Do not attempt to travel. Roads and highways are impassable, particularly in Raleigh and Charlotte. The safest thing for you to do is stay where you are. Lock your doors and windows and wait for further instruction.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A tiny hiccup of fright escaped my throat, and Dad whipped his head around. His normally slicked back blond hair was dry and messy as if he hadn\u2019t bothered to comb it at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMaya,\u201d he exclaimed, pasting on a friendly smile. But under the positive facade I could tell he was just as terrified as I was. The world was falling to pieces and we both knew it. \u201cGood morning, baby girl. Did the construction wake you up? I told them not to make noise until after six.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Baby girl<\/em>. He hadn\u2019t called me that in two years. Not since Mom\u2019s funeral.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDad,\u201d I said, twisting my fingers around a long tendril of dark hair. \u201cWhat is going on?\u201d I had fallen asleep worried about the incredibly fast-moving 212R virus and woken up in a construction zone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh.\u201d He glanced through the kitchen archway toward the saw noises. \u201cThese men are building a survival bunker in the pantry. I think I mentioned it last week. It\u2019s like a panic room, but it won\u2019t require electricity.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy do we need that?\u201d Was I not panicking enough? 212R was infecting densely populated urban areas and, after three days of fever, stripping the diseased of their higher level thinking skills and replacing them with insatiable cravings for raw flesh and blood. Victims were crawling all over the larger cities. We were safe, for the moment, in our suburb. But we might not be for long.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t worry about it,\u201d he said, showing me another fake smile, making me even jumpier. \u201cIt\u2019s an insurance policy. Get dressed and we\u2019ll have breakfast.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I slipped into my bedroom and tugged on my track gear\u2014shorts, tee, and cross-trainers\u2014in record time to catch up to Dad and one of the construction workers at the kitchen island.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad pulled stacks of wrapped twenties from his shoulder bag and slid them across the granite counter toward the man.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s more than I told you,\u201d Dad said quietly. \u201cCan you finish before two?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo problem, boss.\u201d The man glanced at me. \u201cWith the four of us working nonstop it\u2019ll be done in a couple hours.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWith an independent ventilation system?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cExactly like we talked about.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSanitation station?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRoger\u2019s putting in the piping now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I cleared my throat. \u201cDo you want cereal, Dad? There\u2019s some oatmeal left.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He flinched as if he\u2019d forgotten I was there. \u201cBaby girl, make whatever you want. I have to go in a minute.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My belly plummeted. \u201cYou\u2019re going to work?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The television, the small one next to the toaster oven, was tuned to cable news. On the screen was a fuzzy snapshot of an infected man, his face splattered with blood and his eyes a distinct and deep shade of red.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The news anchor said hotly to his guest, \u201cWe will not call them the Z word, Professor. They are ill and need our support, not our ridicule.\u201d He choked up, covering his mouth for a moment. \u201cMy mother has been sick the last couple days. Her eyes went red last night.\u201d He inhaled a shaky breath. \u201cI won\u2019t stand for that kind of language. Not on this show.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the right side of the screen was a cautionary graphic with bullet points. Stay indoors. Conserve energy. Boil water and keep it in sealed containers. Phone calls for emergencies only.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d Dad used the remote to turn off the TV. \u201cYou don\u2019t need to watch this nonsense. It\u2019s all posturing and fear mongering.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Well, they had succeeded. I was terrified. \u201cShould I stay home from school?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Dad said. \u201cThe virus isn\u2019t here yet. The best thing for you to do is go to school, see your friends, run track, just be normal<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut the news\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s bad in the cities,\u201d he agreed, \u201cbut we\u2019re not in the city. If 212R is here, it\u2019s new. We have time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Up to three days. That\u2019s how long it took the infection to invade a body and take over completely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour lab is in Raleigh,\u201d I reminded him. \u201cIt\u2019s not safe there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He cupped my face, and though his touch was gentle, his fingers were tense as talons against my cheeks. \u201cA cure exists, Maya, but I have to finish synthesizing the antiserum. If all my staff shows up I can finish it today. I have to go<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I opened my mouth to argue further. He was one chemist toiling in a Center for Disease Control lab full of scientists and technicians. What difference would his absence make, honestly, in the grand scheme?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can put an end to this,\u201d he said, his voice turning husky with emotion. \u201cI can fix everything. I can save<\/em> them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I saw in the set of his jaw and the steel in his spine I was not going to convince him to stay.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My stomach unraveled like an old scarf. \u201cBut you\u2019ll come home tonight?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course.\u201d He backed away, gesturing to the counter by the sink. \u201cOn your way to school, will you return Mrs. Kinley\u2019s dish? It\u2019s been sitting here for a week.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry I\u2019m in such a hurry,\u201d he said, collecting his satchel, keys, and cell phone. \u201cThe CDC is sending a helicopter to pick me up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I walked him to the front door, getting that itchy feeling I used to get when he dropped Mason and I off at day care years ago. I didn\u2019t want him to go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t forget,\u201d he said, pausing at the threshold, \u201cwash your hands constantly. Carry sanitizer with you. No shaking hands. No hugs. Eat and drink from sealed containers only.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI will, Dad.\u201d I\u2019d heard his cleanliness rules so often, especially in the last few weeks when 212R was all anybody could talk about, I knew them by heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome home tonight,\u201d I pleaded one last time. Since Mom died and my twin brother Mason went away, Dad was all I had left. \u201cPromise me? No matter how much work you still have to do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll come home. And I\u2019ll bring a generator for the bunker.\u201d He kissed my forehead and drove off in his car.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had almost forgotten the workers banging away in my kitchen until I shut the front door and came face to face with their crew leader.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAny little extras you want in there?\u201d he asked, smacking his lips as he studied my hair. \u201cSince your daddy is paying for it. I can throw in carpeting. Would you like that? What about a bulletproof peephole?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tucking my hair behind both ears, I edged toward the hallway and my bedroom. \u201cSounds good. Thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I twisted my hair into a bun, packed a bag with a change of clothes, my copy of Shakespeare\u2019s sonnets for English class, and my school binder. Before leaving my room I hesitated in the doorway staring, unfocused, at my honey colored guitar. Holding it in my arms, strumming the strings, and feeling the chords\u2019 vibrations in my ribcage was the best part of my day. But it would be a pain to carry it from class to class so I left it behind, promising myself to play it when I got home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I left the house in a hurry, snatching the baking dish off the kitchen counter on the way out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mrs. Kinley opened her front door, but only after I knocked five or six times. And when she did, her hair usually in a sleek ponytail down the back of her neck laid loose and wild.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMaya, what are you doing out there?\u201d She yanked me inside, slamming the door and locking it behind me. \u201cAre you watching the news? It isn\u2019t safe.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHave they closed the schools?\u201d Maybe I wouldn\u2019t have to go after all, no matter what my dad thought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot here. But they did in Raleigh.\u201d Her cat Freckles darted across the room as if she had a ghost on her long fluffy tail. \u201cThey\u2019re closing down the whole city. This zombie plague is ridiculous.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Z word, the word we weren\u2019t supposed to say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo you know what they just said on TV?\u201d she added. \u201cReds can\u2019t speak.\u201d Her eyes filled with unshed tears, and she reached for my hand. Her fingers were cold, but strong. \u201cIsn\u2019t that the saddest thing you\u2019ve ever heard? Even if they wanted to communicate, they physically can\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Extricating my hand, I tried to smile reassuringly, but I feared it was more of a sneer. \u201cIt\u2019s sad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe saddest,\u201d she said, turning back to the box she was packing on her living room sofa.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy dad went to work in Raleigh,\u201d I said. \u201cHe\u2019s trying to finish a cure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBless his heart.\u201d Her words were kind, but her eyes were resolute as if she\u2019d already written him off. \u201cDo you want to stay here with me until he gets home?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to school,\u201d I announced bravely, though I felt anything but. \u201cI just wanted to give this back.\u201d I showed her the dish. \u201cThanks again for the brownies. They were really good.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy pleasure.\u201d She pulled me in for a longer and tighter than normal hug, and I rested my chin on her shoulder. Enveloped in Mrs. Kinley\u2019s soft, sweet smelling arms, I missed my mom more than ever. \u201cBe safe. Not even our little corner of the world is immune to all this.\u201d She waved her hand toward the living room to encompass the news on the TV.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI will.\u201d Readjusting my backpack I crossed her lawn and slid behind the wheel of my car, a rinky-dink coupe my dad had bought for me to practice on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Palmetto High School was practically deserted. And it wasn\u2019t just students ditching under the threat of plague. Half the teachers were absent and only a handful of subs showed up to cover their classes. Lots of kids crammed into classrooms they wouldn\u2019t normally be in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But my track coach was right on time and ready to sweat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI hope you delicate flowers came to work,\u201d Coach greeted us. \u201cNo bird or pig or, I don\u2019t know, raccoon<\/em> flu is going to stop us, right?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I glanced to my right at the three other runners who\u2019d shown up to morning practice and nodded woodenly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what I love to see.\u201d Coach blew her whistle. \u201cWarm up mile. Let\u2019s go, ladies.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I took off, quickly outpacing my teammates.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My best event was the one thousand meter. I was fast on a normal day. Maybe the panic and anxiety helped fuel me because I was better than fast. I was a machine in drills, not even caring about the humid, North Carolina air hanging heavy and thick. As I sprinted sweat blossomed, coating me in sticky moisture, but I never slowed down. By the time the first bell rang I was wrung out. I showered in the locker room and hurried to first period.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My history teacher Mr. Coates had the TV on and nobody even pretended to study or finish assignments. We scooted under the television and absorbed live footage from New York and Miami, the hardest hit U.S cities so far.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And North Carolina was right between them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Infected plague victims, red eyes seeming to glow, swarmed the streets attacking and consuming people. Survivors jammed all major routes of transportation\u2014freeways, train depots, airports.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLola Rodriguez had no way of knowing her first floor apartment would be attacked in the middle of the night by a 212R sufferer,\u201d Daniela, a veteran reporter announced to the camera. \u201cThanks to her quick thinking she not only saved her own life but the lives of three of her neighbors by waking them up and hiding them on a second floor terrace.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They looped a short video clip of a Red climbing a staircase, getting about halfway up, and toppling over like a toy soldier on a shaky table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAs we\u2019ve learned in the past few days,\u201d the anchor continued, \u201c212R affects the inner ear. Sufferers will not be able to either rise or descend more than a few feet before feeling uncontrollably dizzy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I glanced at the windows. Red eyes, no speech, and an inability to climb. Oh, and an insatiable craving for raw flesh and blood. And they were out there, not that far away, in Raleigh and Charlotte.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The reporter wrapped up her segment. \u201cIf there\u2019s one thing to take away from the last hour,\u201d Daniela said, \u201cit is to shelter in place. Please, please,<\/em> if you are in any of the major plague centers immediately find a safe spot to be for the next few days.\u201d She smiled sadly. \u201cMy heart goes out to those suffering, both victims and survivors. If you can hear my voice, stay safe. Stay vigilant. We will get through this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The show went to commercial at the same time the bell rang, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the way out of the room, even though it was against the rules, I brought my cell out of my bag and texted my dad. \u201cDid you make it to work?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Seconds ticked by. A minute. I waited in the hall. Just as I was about to put it away and go to my next class I received a text.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI got to ride in a helicopter! Everything good. Working hard. Are you in school?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes. I love you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLove you too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next three classes went about the same as first period. At lunch I did what I always did, slipped into the band room to play guitar with my friend Guinevere. But Gwen wasn\u2019t there so I stuck a granola bar in my mouth, pulled a student guitar from its case, and plucked a couple notes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I played an upbeat country pop song on my instrument. The kind of song I loved. Normally.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It rang false. Nothing about the world was light and snappy anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The side door slammed open and Cal poked his head in, his cold, calculating eyes discovering me sitting all by myself. The very sight of him caused a sour fear to spike inside my chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On any other day there were enough people in the room to create a buffer between Cal and I, but it was just the two of us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Apparently, not even the threat of infection and death could suppress his sadistic impulses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHey dork.\u201d He grinned as he produced a chocolate milk grenade and pretended to bite an invisible pin from the top of the container. \u201cIncoming!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I abandoned the school\u2019s guitar and took off a split second before he threw it overhand, digging my feet into the carpeting and sprinting for the back exit to the soundtrack of his cackling laughter. The warm milk exploded against my hip, splashing me from shoulders to knees in sugary, sticky mess.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I ran hard across the grassy quad and toward the girls\u2019 locker room, not looking back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAttention students and staff,\u201d a voice boomed over the loudspeaker. I slid to a stop next to a soda machine and spun, but Cal hadn\u2019t chased me. \u201cYou are ordered by the county Sheriff\u2019s department to go directly home at this time and stay there.\u201d A pause. \u201cA 6:00 p.m. curfew will be strictly enforced.\u201d Another pause. \u201cGod bless us all.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The emergency alarm screamed through the halls and pulsed from every classroom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I hurried for the parking lot, joining the crowd of people headed the same way, and pulled my cell. \u201cSchool\u2019s canceled,\u201d I texted my dad. \u201cOn my way home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He didn\u2019t reply right away, but he kept his phone in his office, so if he was busy in the lab it might be a while.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The streets were congested and it took twice as long to get home. I steered my Honda with both hands fisted on the wheel. Twice, I narrowly avoided collisions with cars zigzagging through traffic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My phone beeped. \u201cBusy,\u201d Dad texted. \u201cMove garage gear into panic room. See you tonight.\u201d I was too worried about dying on the road to stop and answer him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The work trucks were gone from my driveway when I pulled up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMaya!\u201d Mrs. Kinley came off her front porch with Freckles in a carrier. \u201cIs your dad coming to get you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe\u2019s in Raleigh,\u201d I said, \u201cbut he\u2019s been texting. He\u2019ll be home tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOkay.\u201d She popped the carrier into the backseat of her car. \u201cI\u2019m going to meet my parents in Nashville. You can come with me if you want. I\u2019d love the company and 212R isn\u2019t as bad in the country as it is in the cities.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI have to wait for my dad,\u201d I said. \u201cHe\u2019s really close to finding a cure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She smiled wistfully. \u201cWouldn\u2019t that be wonderful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBe careful out there,\u201d I said and bolted myself inside my house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I did what I\u2019d been doing the last two weeks or so after school, as part of my dad\u2019s safety checklist. I stripped to my underwear in the laundry room and immediately took a hot shower in the hall bathroom. Only then did I change into comfy pants and a tank top and inspected our new panic room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The crew had done a good job. It looked solid. Impenetrable, even. Our old pantry was now a metal cell with a heavy swinging door that sealed from the inside with a wheel crank. I crossed the square of extra soft carpeting and decided I could live there for a few days. As long as my dad was with me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Speaking of, I texted him again. \u201cPanic room is done. Looks sturdy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

While I waited for him to reply I made myself a sandwich and turned on the TV.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

More bad news. Most of New York City was black and offline.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe president has declared the entire city of New York a disaster zone,\u201d the reporter said. \u201cThe National Guard is on the ground as we speak doing all they can to quarantine plague sufferers and evacuate survivors.\u201d A video flashed on of a giant tank driving down a street choked with cars and people.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t feel particularly optimistic about the military response. The threat to the city was a microscopic virus, not anything that could be shot or detained.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Done with my snack I followed my dad\u2019s directions. He\u2019d been busy the last few weeks, even busier than I realized. Locked in our garage lay cases of drinking water and canned food, a first-aid kit, a tub of survival gear, and two narrow cots. I spent the afternoon sweeping up after the workers and moving and organizing the supplies into the old pantry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf you have a fever,\u201d the news anchor announced, \u201cgo immediately to the nearest emergency room.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I pressed the back of my hand to my forehead. So far so good.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe best hope we have is to contain the virus,\u201d the reporter continued. \u201cOnce infected, though, you can spot a \u2018Red,\u2019 as some folks are calling them, by the red color of their eyes. We now have Dr. LaVay from the CDC to tell us more about why and how 212R affects the color of our irises. Doctor?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I turned off the TV and texted Dad, \u201cLasagna for dinner? I\u2019ll start at 5.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

While I waited to hear from him I collected my guitar from my room and strummed a song I had written the year before called \u201cRed Shoelaces.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When the tray of frozen vegetable lasagna was hot and ready at six I served myself and ate in front of the television. Every five minutes or so I checked my cell to see if my dad texted anything and I had missed the beep, but nothing came in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMany of the services we take for granted,\u201d the reporter said, \u201cwill no longer be available as early as tomorrow morning along the entire eastern seaboard. 212R has spread so quickly, incapacitating so many people, there may not be enough qualified people to run power, water, and sanitation services.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I set my dinner in the trash and double-checked that all the doors and windows were locked tight and then turned on my phone. No new messages.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe here at the news desk will keep reporting,\u201d she added, \u201cas long as we can to get you the information you need to stay safe. If the power in your area goes out, don\u2019t panic. Scrolling on the screen right now are the radio channels broadcasting emergency information in your area. So, if you have a battery powered radio in your survival kit get it out and test the batteries.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Something that sounded like a firecracker popped outside the front door. Then twice more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gunfire? I couldn\u2019t be around gunfire. It reminded me of Mason and my mom and the horrible, awful thing that happened two years ago.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I ran to the window, but the street was deserted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My cell screen was blank. No new messages, no new texts, no missed calls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDad,\u201d I whispered at my phone. \u201cWhere are you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The power blinked off, draping the house in quiet, purplish dusk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLights went out,\u201d I texted Dad. \u201cWhat do I do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Somebody outside screamed. The living room window shattered. Someone or something in the yard growled like a pissed off panther.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I snatched my guitar, my song diary, and my iPad.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The front door crashed open, and I ran for it, slamming the bunker\u2019s door closed with a resounding clank<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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<3 Anna<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Enjoy this free sneak peek of Elixir’s 1st chapter! Elixir (Red Plague #1) Written by Anna Abner Copyright 2014 by Anna Abner Back Cover Blurb: The red plague has devastated the human race, turning billions of people into zombies with red eyes and an insatiable hunger for human flesh. The 212R virus sweeps through the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1079,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"Free Chapter Of Elixir (Red Plague #1)!","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[88,761],"tags":[221,763,825,418,823,461,822,220],"class_list":["post-3771","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-elixir","category-red-plague-series","tag-apocalypse","tag-dystopian-ya","tag-free-chapter","tag-kindle","tag-kobo","tag-paranormal-romance","tag-young-adult-fantasy","tag-zombie"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/01\/Elixir1800x2700.jpg","views":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p2Wkl2-YP","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3771","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3771"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3771\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3773,"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3771\/revisions\/3773"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/1079"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3771"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3771"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/annaabner.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3771"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}