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It was by far the weirdest dream that Malcolm could ever recall having. It was a conglomeration of old and new. In it he had taken his sons, Sam, Daniel, and Trey skiing for the weekend. None of them were very good and most of their weekend was spent playing in the snow and hanging out by the fire. The dream started out as more of a memory. It was of the latest trip they had taken the mountains to ski. Jennifer his wife was having “female” problems. And Malcolm, being very courteous and the sensitive husband that he was, decided it was best for him to leave the house. He took the boys and gave her the weekend off. They had a blast that weekend. Trey barely fought with him at all. The only time that Trey did fight with him was to give more money to play video games in the lobby, because Malcolm refused to bring the video game console. That was the dream. Eating barbecue wings and ribs by the fire, still damp from playing in the snow.

Then the dream turned from reality and memory to nightmare. The window in the cabin crashed open, bringing in blowing snow at the same time the rerun of Full House turned into the emergency broadcasting system.

This is an emergency, the announcer stated, the dead are rising.

How ridiculous, Malcolm thought in the dream. The dead don’t rise.

He remembered in the dream, looking over to his youngest son, Sam. He was really little. He sat on the floor legs crossed Indian style, with the saddest eyes looking up the Malcolm,

“Don’t let the monsters get me, Daddy.” Sam cried. “Please, Daddy.”

“No, Sam,” Malcolm told his son. “There are no such thing as monsters.”

“Dad,” Trey said sternly. “There are monsters. They’re out there.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Malcolm argued. “You’re scaring your brother.”

“Why don’t you ever believe me?”

“Why must everything be a fight with you?” Malcolm yelled.

Then, Daniel screamed. With that, the walls collapsed in a barrage of walking, rotting, dead cascaded into the room, arms extended hungrily.

Trey yelled out, “See? I was right.”

They were being invaded by carnivorous creatures and all Trey could do was make his point. Focused on Trey, he noticed that Daniel stopped screaming. Malcolm turned only to see the corpses tear his son apart. The young child was lifeless, his limbs and insides dangled from his body.

Sam kept crying out, “Daddy! Daddy!” But Malcolm couldn’t see him or find him.

“Where are you?” Malcolm asked. “Sam, answer me.”

Malcolm tried to move in dream, but it was difficult, the zombies grabbed for him, reaching for his arms and head.

“Dad! This way!” Trey called out.

“Your brother. Your brother. I have to help your brother.” Malcolm said, his heart raced and it felt so real.

“Dad.” Trey’s voice faded, it was further away.

What to do? Where to go? Malcolm desperately searched for Sam, but couldn’t find him. He cried in that dream, his heart aching and screaming out for Daniel who was torn apart.

After feeling a rush of cool breeze, Malcolm saw the door to the cabin was open. Trey must have run out there, he thought. And then Malcolm, too, with no choice raced out that door.

He could see his son in the distance. The snow came up to Trey’s midsection. Yet the teenager kept trying to run. He kept waving his arm to Malcolm to hurry up. The snow was hindering Malcolm. He tried lifting his legs high, trying to move in that snow. He got cold, very cold. The snow pelted him in the face and his body froze, and shivered. He couldn’t believe how cold it was, and as he tried to take another step, he felt the pain in his arm and he looked to see one of the walking dead gnawing on his flesh.

“No!” Malcolm screamed out. “No!” He pulled his arm away and when he did, Malcolm sat up, waking from the dream.

How much of that dream was part subconscious, and reality? He was cold. Freezing cold. In fact, his body trembled out-of-control with the shivers. What was wrong with him? His head pounded and ached. The bite he received in the dream still hurt him. Why? Then Malcolm remembered the injury. The one he received while removing the barricade. He looked at his arm. It felt as if it were swollen twice its size, and the flesh was hot to touch. The slice that would have needed stitches in the old world, was seeping. The bandage was damp. It was too dark to see. Malcolm knew by the feel of his arm, how cold he felt, he was feverish. He had an infection. He should’ve taken the time to fix that arm and clean it, but he didn’t. He had other things on his mind. Malcolm hardly thought about anything of the world. It really wasn’t that bad. Infection never crossed his mind. As he wrestled with the sleeping roll to try to warm up, Malcolm also thought of one other thing that it could possibly be.

The virus. What if it were still in the air? What if it was still viable out there? So much went through his mind, he couldn’t process it, but one thing was for sure infection or virus, Malcolm was without a doubt, very sick.