Island of the Dead

Jeremy Sloan

8 pm Monday

Worst of all, the things that had been my children were still downstairs -- moaning, hissing and scratching at the door to the attic.

Panic had saved me -- if I'd been thinking more clearly, I'd have tried to help them and been bitten. But I'd cut and run.

Locked upstairs, I had a bottle of club soda, a few cans of beer and a jar of Spanish olives in the mini-fridge, but that was it. I was going to have to escape...

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