The morning sun cast shadows across the abandoned streets of Jackson Township as I walked alongside Mark, both of us moving with the cautious awareness that had become second nature in our post-apocalyptic world. My bloodied hand axe hung loosely in my right hand, dark stains on the blade speaking to this morning's earlier encounters with wandering infected. Between my lips sat a cigarette, the smoke curling upward in the still air as I took measured drags.

Mark matched my pace, the older man's weathered hands steady despite his age as he brought his own cigarette to his lips. We created small clouds of smoke as we walked, our breath visible in the cool morning air mixing with the tobacco haze.

"Smoking really is the best thing to raise the mood, isn't it?" Mark asked with a laugh, glancing sideways at me with the kind of camaraderie that had developed between us over the two months we have known each other.

He became like a noisy gramps for me honestly.

I merely shrugged, flicking ash from my cigarette onto the cracked asphalt beneath our feet. "Smoking is the worst habit I've ever picked up," I replied with honesty. "I regret starting, but I can't deny that it relaxes my mind when things get complicated."

Mark snorted with amusement at my conflicted relationship with nicotine. "Still hiding the habit from your household? From Rachel and the others?"

I nodded, taking another drag before answering. "I'm not ready for the stares, the scolding, and the judgmental looks I'll get if they find out. They've got enough to worry about without adding my vices to their list of concerns."

Mark laughed out loud at this admission, the sound echoing off the abandoned buildings that lined our route. "At my age, in my era, nobody gave a damn about smoking! Everyone did it—doctors, teachers, even pregnant women. Different times, my friend."

"I wasn't aware dinosaurs had developed tobacco cultivation," I replied with a smile, unable to resist the opportunity to tease the older man about his age.

Mark glared at me with mock offense, though his eyes held genuine amusement. "You're asking for help from this particular dinosaur, so maybe show a little more respect."

"Sorry, sorry," I laughed, holding up my free hand in a gesture of surrender. "I appreciate everything you're doing to help us survive what's coming."

Our banter was a welcome respite from the grim reality of our mission, but both of us understood the serious nature of what we were attempting. Over the past week, Mark had been working tirelessly to develop countermeasures against the alien Screamer device, using the frequency data that Rachel and I had risked our lives to obtain.

The plan was ambitious and potentially dangerous: create a network of artificial Screamer devices positioned strategically throughout Jackson Township, each one capable of broadcasting Mark's reverse-engineered frequency patterns. The goal wasn't to eliminate the infected threat entirely—that would be impossible given our limited resources and the alien technology's sophistication. Instead, we hoped to confuse, redirect, and potentially control the movements of infected hordes when the real Screamer unleashed its final, devastating call.

"The theory is sound," Mark had explained during our planning sessions. "The original device uses biological amplifiers—those infected we observed around the crystalline structure—to boost and focus its transmissions. My reproductions won't have that organic component, so they'll be less powerful. But if we position them correctly and synchronize their broadcasts, we should be able to create interference patterns that disrupt the alien's control signals."

Each artificial device was roughly the size of a car battery, packed with electronics that Mark had salvaged and modified from various sources throughout the township. They weren't pretty—black metal boxes covered in cooling vents and antenna arrays—but they represented the culmination of Mark's engineering expertise applied to an otherworldly problem.

The remote control system was Mark's particular pride. A modified tablet computer served as the central command interface, capable of activating all devices simultaneously or controlling them individually. The range was limited to about five miles, but that would be sufficient to cover Jackson Township and the immediate surrounding area.

"The beautiful thing about this setup," Mark had explained with obvious enthusiasm, "is that we can adapt our response in real time. If the infected start clustering in one area, we can redirect our signals to pull them away from populated zones. If they're spreading out too much to target effectively, we can concentrate our broadcasts to funnel them into kill zones where we can deal with them more efficiently."

Today's mission was to install the fourth device in our planned network, positioned on the roof of an abandoned office building that would give optimal coverage of Jackson Township's eastern residential district. The location had been carefully chosen based on population density maps, infected movement patterns, and the technical requirements of Mark's jury-rigged equipment.

I could proudly say I had helped a lot in that aspect with how many times I wandered around Jackson Township to find a solution against the Screamer.

We approached the target building cautiously, my enhanced senses alert for any signs of infected presence in the area. The structure was a three-story brick building that had housed an insurance agency before the outbreak, its parking lot now overgrown with weeds and littered with debris from months of abandonment.

"Looks clear from street level," I observed, crushing my cigarette under my boot and shifting my grip on the hand axe. "But we'll need to check the interior before you start working on the roof installation."

Mark nodded, shouldering the heavy pack that contained the artificial Screamer device and his installation tools. Despite his age, the older man had insisted on carrying his own equipment, claiming that his back wasn't quite ready for retirement yet.

The building's interior showed the typical signs of hasty evacuation—overturned furniture, scattered papers, and personal belongings abandoned in place. But more importantly, it was free of infected presence. The stairwell to the upper floors was clear, and my Dullahan hearing detected no sounds of movement above us.

"Stay close while I clear each floor," I said, leading the way up the concrete stairs with my weapons ready. "If we encounter any infected, get behind me and let me handle them."

The second floor contained mostly empty offices and a break room, all showing signs of abandonment but no immediate threats. The third floor was similar, though I noted some evidence of infected activity in one of the corner offices—claw marks on the walls and dark stains on the carpet that suggested feeding behavior.

"Old signs," I told Mark after examining the evidence. "Probably from the first few weeks after the outbreak. This building has been clear for a while."

The roof access was through a maintenance door at the end of the third-floor hallway. I tested it carefully, finding it unlocked but stiff from disuse. The hinges creaked as I pushed it open, revealing a narrow staircase that led to the building's flat roof.

"Perfect," Mark said, examining the rooftop space with professional satisfaction. "Good sight lines in all directions, solid concrete construction for mounting the antenna array, and easy access to the building's electrical system for power backup."

I positioned myself near the roof access door while Mark began unpacking his equipment. The artificial Screamer device looked even more impressive in daylight—a sophisticated piece of electronics that bore little resemblance to the crude salvaged components it had been built from.

"How long for the installation?" I asked, scanning the surrounding area for any signs of movement while Mark began assembling his antenna array.

"As always brat. About forty-five minutes for the full setup," he replied, already absorbed in the technical work. "The device itself just needs to be connected and calibrated, but I want to run a full systems check to make sure it's communicating properly with the central control unit."

I settled into a defensive position that gave me good visibility of all approach routes to the building. The enhanced senses provided by the Dullahan virus made me an effective early warning system—I could detect movement, sounds, and even scents that would be invisible to normal human perception.

As Mark worked, I hoped it would work out. The artificial Screamer network represented our best hope for surviving the alien intelligence's final assault, but it was also an admission that we couldn't defeat the threat directly. We were essentially trying to trick a vastly superior intelligence into destroying itself through its own control mechanisms.

"You know," Mark said, pausing in his work to light another cigarette, "that Jason kid has been acting strangely lately. More than usual, I mean. Have you noticed anything odd about his behavior?"

I considered the question, trying to recall my recent interactions with Jason. "Now that you mention it, he has seemed more distant. Less engaged with what's going on around him. I chalked it up to stress from everything that's been happening…

I said witgoiyt adding the Jasmine's rejection part.

"It's more than stress," Mark said, his voice carrying genuine concern. "Yesterday I saw him standing outside the Municipal Office at three in the morning, just staring off toward I don't know where the hell. When I asked him what he was doing, he seemed confused, like he didn't remember going outside."

That was definitely concerning. Jason had always been somewhat moody so maybe it was just him thinking? Did he not still turn the page over Jasmine maybe?

"Could be some kind of delayed trauma response," I suggested, though I wasn't entirely convinced by my own explanation. "The outbreak has been hard on everyone, but it hits some people later than others."

"Maybe," Mark agreed, but his tone suggested he wasn't satisfied with that explanation either. "But talk to him, boy. You've got a better rapport with the younger folks than I do, and I'm worried he might be developing some kind of psychological problem to not only himself but the others as well. Jasmine is trying but it doesn't seem to be working."

"I'll make a point of checking in with him soon," I promised.

Mark nodded and returned to his work, connecting the final components of the antenna array with practiced efficiency. The device powered up with a soft electronic hum, its status indicators showing green across all systems.

"Device four is online and ready," Mark announced with satisfaction, checking his tablet computer to verify that the new installation was communicating properly with the central control system. "Three more to go, and we'll have complete coverage of the township."

I helped him pack up the installation tools, then ignoring his rambling about being careful. Every component had been carefully selected and modified for this specific purpose—there were no spare parts or backup systems if something went wrong.

As we prepared to leave the rooftop, I took a moment to survey Jackson Township from this elevated vantage point. The community looked peaceful from up here, almost normal despite the empty streets and abandoned vehicles. It was easy to forget how precarious our situation was when you couldn't see the infected lurking in the shadows or the alien technology that threatened to destroy everything we'd worked to build.

The Jackson Township Community and our little house…

But the artificial Screamer device sitting silently on the rooftop represented hope as much as desperation. If Mark's calculations were correct, if my understanding of the alien technology was accurate, if we could execute the plan properly when the moment came—there were a lot of variables, but for the first time since discovering the Screamer threat, I felt like we might actually have a chance.

"Come on," I said, leading the way back toward the roof access door. "Let's get back to town and start planning the next installation. We've got a lot of work ahead of us, and not much time to get it done."

Mark followed behind me, but I could hear him muttering under his breath before he spoke up with characteristic bluntness. "You know, you're still a young brat despite everything you've been through. I've got three times your age and experience, so maybe show some respect when you're talking to your elders!"

I couldn't help but smile at his predictable gruffness. "You're talking as if you're as old as Joel," I replied, thinking of Wanda's grandfather and his constant worrying about his granddaughter's future. "And honestly, he's doing quite a bit better than you are these days."

"Better my ass!" Mark retorted with obvious irritation, though I could tell he didn't actually dislike the old man. "All Joel does is tag along with Martin and your friend Christopher on their expeditions out of guilt! He's just bothering them and getting in the way of actual work. The man's too old to be useful in the field."

I paused on the stairwell, turning to look back at Mark with a more serious expression. "Try to understand his perspective," I said, feeling genuine sympathy for Joel's situation. "He's terrified of what will happen to Wanda once he's gone and she's left completely alone. That kind of fear makes people do things that don't always make logical sense."

In our current world, losing the last member of your family was a death sentence for many people. Joel's desperation to remain useful, to contribute something meaningful before his inevitable decline, was both heartbreaking and completely understandable.

As we reached the second floor, I reflexively reached for another cigarette, then caught myself and quickly put it away without lighting it. Instead, I pulled out a piece of chewing gum from my pocket—my secret weapon for masking the telltale scent of tobacco from Rachel and the others back home.

Damn this habit. Every time I thought about quitting, something stressful would happen and I'd find myself reaching for the pack again. The nicotine helped calm my nerves and focus my thoughts, but I knew the health implications were serious even without the added complications of living in a post-apocalyptic environment.

As for my clothes, well, I could always blame any lingering tobacco smell on Mark's chain-smoking. That excuse had worked so far. In mornings runs before heading back home, with me killing Infected around, the smell wouldn't even noticeable so it was fine as well.

"It's not like that little girl would be completely abandoned if something happened to Joel," Mark said, resuming our earlier conversation as we exited the building. "Margaret wouldn't let her fall through the cracks."

"Maybe," I replied, checking the street for any signs of infected activity before we started walking back toward the township center. "But who knows what might happen tomorrow? An old man's worst fear is that he'll die and leave someone he loves vulnerable and alone."

Mark was quiet for a moment, processing the implications of what I'd said. Finally, he cleared his throat and changed the subject to something that had clearly been weighing on his mind.

"Remind me again exactly what you found at that radio station?" He asked for what felt like the hundredth time since we'd begun working on the artificial Screamer project. "I keep thinking about the technical specifications you described, and some of the details don't quite add up in my head."

I had to be careful here. Mark needed enough information to replicate the frequency patterns and understand the basic principles behind the alien technology, but I couldn't tell him the full truth about what we'd really discovered. The existence of an advanced alien intelligence actively working to eliminate humanity was the kind of information that could cause panic but even before there was no way he would believe me.

Wait, maybe Mark would? I don't know, I prefer to keep it secret and deal with the Screamer secretly as well. Mark just needed to know that something was threatening to bring an army of Infected here.

"Some kind of sophisticated radio system that uses infected as biological amplifiers to spread coordinated control signals," I said, sticking to the partial truth we'd established during our previous discussions. "The setup was more advanced than anything I've seen before—whoever built it clearly has engineering knowledge that goes way beyond what most survivors could cobble together from salvaged parts."

Mark's eyes lit up with professional curiosity, the same expression he got whenever he encountered a technical challenge that pushed the boundaries of his expertise. "That's incredibly ingenious," he said with obvious admiration. "Using living organisms as signal boosters and coordinators... the biological component would provide adaptability and self-repair capabilities that purely electronic systems couldn't match. Whoever designed that system got quite the head, and I'd love to meet them to discuss the technical implementation."

Believe me, Mark, you really don't want to meet whoever is responsible for this nightmare. The alien intelligence behind the Screamer technology wasn't interested in collaborative engineering discussions—it wanted every human being on Earth dead, and it had the technological sophistication to achieve that goal if we couldn't find effective countermeasures.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.