14

You sit on a bench at the edge of the Milford Estate, Jonah on your right, dancing to techno music now pumping even louder from the surrounding speakers. The cool wintry air helps calm you down; the sweating stops, your heart returns to a normal pumping speed, and saliva forms in your dry mouth. You sit and watch the party, content to be at a distance from your fellow teen rule-breakers.

Through breaks between the dancing bodies, you spot two figures past the furthest line of partygoers. At this distance, you can only make out large details. The two stagger and sway like drunkards, and both wear tattered uniforms of some kind, maybe street workers or garbage collectors. They cross the far-off lawn at an agitated pace and wave their arms like insect antennae scanning the air. Your stomach tightens; something doesn't seem right with these two.

Movement from just across the street yanks your attention. A group of a half-dozen people shuffle toward the party in much the same way, but now you can see something is wrong. Their bodies are rigid and twisted, arms and hands grossly extended, faces swollen and teeth bared like snarling animals. Tattered, dirty clothes hang torn, and a chorus of moans overwhelms the music of the party.

A scream draws your eye further down the street. In the middle of the road, two of these crazed-looking semi-humans are holding down a flailing woman. Your vision tightens and focuses on the trio as you barely comprehend what's happening—they're feeding on her. They bite her flesh and tear her skin. Blood flies from the woman's incapacitated body.