Author Note: I don't do these often unless it's a content warning but I feel this is required right now. With the ongoing crisis of Covid19, I had considered stepping back from writing this serial due to the implications of "outbreak/post apoc" fiction at this time. But, after much consideration, I will continue posting and writing this story.

For context, I wrote this novel/serialization years ago and have been updating it since. At this time I want to be very clear: this story is NOT reflective of our current crisis. MAD Wendigo is not about Covid19 in any way, shape, or form. I'm sorry to those readers who have been waiting far too long for the next update, and I appreciate your patience.

What a fuckin' bitch. Shannon spat as he looked back at the gaggle gathered around the wounded Eamon. Comin’ up here, staring me the fuck down. Who the hell does she think she is? He snarled and turned his glares away from the group and towards the valley. I’m not dying because some asshole can't do the right goddamn thing.

He may not have looked it, but Shannon knew the choice was hard. Everyone had lost someone or something important when it had all started to go to shit. He just knew how to be objective about it. How to get the goddamn job done. For Chrissake… a bunch’a kids and they want a goddamn doctor's appointment on the DVP?

Fuming, he paced up and down the group, gun in hand with eyes darting between what spilled over the guardrail. They were already making poor time before the gimp fell and now they were bleeding it. And for what? Those wounds weren't going to get any better and if they waited until nightfall to get to the campus the blood would draw them out.

“Fuck.” Exasperated he kicked a piece of metal and the sound echoed as it collided with the guard rail. Laurence shot a glance his way but Shannon barely paid attention to it. He crossed his arms and glared at the valley.

“Are you nuts?” Tish came up beside him. Quick glances over her shoulder at Laurence were interrupted only by her eyes hunting the green with fear. Shannon looked deep into the dark hues that had only started to shimmer with red and gold.

“Keep it quiet or you'll bring down more than pissed off glares,” Tish hissed with annoying snake-like ss’s seething in his ear.

“Let ‘em glare. You think I care how they look at me?” He crossed his arms in a huff.

“I care if you stir shit up. We’re nearly home and we don’t need more fights.”

“We're not getting back anytime soon while he's making house calls.”

Shannon never liked Reid. He feared Laurence and understood Tish, but he just didn't fucking like Reid. Stuck up, like he was better than them all. And the asshole held his medical skills above everyone's head like a scythe: you get fucked and Reid will fix you if he feels like it. Fucking unpredictable. And Shannon liked predictable.

He liked it when things went according to plan, like when they started the hunt. It was easier without tag-alongs. Better when Laurence wasn’t drunk on watch. They were angry, had a goal, and the prize was worth the goddamned risk. Hell, they'd even been given some weapons on their way to be armed enough to survive. Sure, one got lost after a tumble through the brush but wasn’t like it was all his fault. He’d helped. Cut days off their travel time. On the way out of the city, they avoided the valley on his insistence. It was dangerous, he’d told them it was a fucking death trap. Part of him thought maybe they didn't know how fucked they were, that they'd never seen what could happen out here.

Shannon had. Shannon wouldn’t forget.

It was night. For some reason they thought night was a better time to go. There had been seven of them, what was fifteen, but Scarborough was a nightmare they hadn't prepared for. When they had the chance they dashed for the major routes; the 401 was safe enough so the DVP should be too, right?

After an hour the children started whining about being tired. Shannon was older and picked up one of the local kids, Samuel. He liked him, nice kid from two doors down. He’d bunked up with Shannon and his dad in that weirdo’s bunker when it all started. Chuck Smiles, the pervert from two streets over, opened up his “end of the world” shelter to families with young boys. Chuck died not long after they figured out why. Shannon's Dad took them there after Smiles was shot but it wasn't a long term solution. They needed to get somewhere safer and with more supplies.

That's when they got the message. Shannon hated that old radio, the fuckin static going on for days but Samuel liked to screw around with it to listen for aliens. Sure, Shannon played along, some of the other people did too, until the day they’d heard the man's voice.

“… message will repeat. To all survivors who can hear this: We’ve established a foothold at Victoria College. A place that’s safe from infection. We have fences, food, water and defences. It was once a fort and it is again. The closest building on the North East cross streets: Queens Park and Charles Street West…” The message described where to go and from those that knew the city, they said it used to be part of the university. “Buildings are marked with green spray-painted stars on all sides. This message will repeat.”

Just as it said the message repeated and for a week they all argued about leaving. It was Shannon’s Dad who refused to go until the messaged changed, the voice of goddamn reason. After all, no telling how old that recording was.

“It is Sunday, April 24th and the weather is rainy here in Toronto. Victoria College is still safe. We will repeat this message next Sunday if it is still safe. To all survivors who can hear this…”

They left that night.

Even though it was spring it was cold in the evening. The kind of night where Shannon missed those big ass comfy coats and a nice pair of boots. They probably should have covered more ground but they hadn’t seen a wendigo in days. Maybe it was the cold? Maybe they were too well fed.

“Hey Shan,” Samuel called from atop Shannon's shoulders. “You think they have pop rocks?” Sam was the kind of kid that bounced back from everything. He saw his parents die and was sad, who wouldn’t be, but wasn’t like the kid didn’t know how to laugh anymore. He could still have fun, just had his days. Hell, when Samuel found out about Smiles, he wasn't even scared. He joked about the “creeper” like he was a character on a bad TV show. Nothing seemed to phase Samuel and he kept Shannon's spirits up.

“Nah man, those would have been used in molotovs.”

Samuel laughed quietly while slapping a beat on the top of Shannon's head. “Dude. I'm not stupid, molotovs are not made of pop rocks.”

“You sure about that? Just imagine the sparks and the pops!”

They laughed, probably a little too loud. But it wasn't them that called the wendigos. It was the young woman who'd lost her family. What the hell was her name… Shannon couldn’t remember. But she had a cut. It wasn't all that bad but she wasn't wrapping it tight and they can smell fresh blood.

Her scream was quick and then nothing. Shannon turned around and she just wasn't there anymore. Another woman, maybe thirty-ish started crying and whimpering. “We're all gonna die…” Shannon never admitted it, but he shivered a little.

No one heard her again.

They looked for them. A young man, an older one -Shannon couldn't remember their names. Didn't want tom maybe. But he just went off and poof, like smoke. It freaked them out, and no one wanted to look anymore. No one wanted to stop.

But then just like that, they were on top of them. “Look out!” Shannon’s father screamed and it was like the world came back to life.

From behind him, Shannon felt hands reach out. He didn't know how many there were. His instinct was to shake and he shook them off and fell to the ground. Samuel hit the pavement hard, still conscious though. Spinning around Shannon had just enough time to grab Samuel's shoe to have the foot and the rest of the kid ripped from his hands.

SAM!

He screamed in his head but his voice got trapped. His mouth dropped open as he heard the rest of the group wailing in pain. His father leapt over him and into the bushes after Samuel. Not a seconds hesitation. Not a word.

But Shannon, he couldn't move.

When he heard his father screaming and shouting out his name, Shannon stayed on the ground with Samuel's sneaker in his hand.

He waited for them to come for him. The wendigo's feasted less than ten feet away but not a single one came near. He stayed still and waited. He barely even breathed but they just ate and ate and ate.

After a while, they started to shuffle around him and Shannon rolled under a car. Bloody, rotting, and stinking feet lumbered while looking for food. They'd find a discarded arm and gnaw on it hungrily, drawing the group to one spot. Then, he'd roll to another car.

After an hour he was far away from the mess and had climbed into a tree. In the morning there was nothing left but clothing and some bones but the parkway was swarmed with the infected. So he waited.

Two days. It took two days for them to scatter. When they'd all gone and he was still warm enough to move, he numbly climbed down still holding the shoe.

The rest of the way to college though, that went according to plan.

Shannon looked up and down the roadway, and in seconds he knew. In another hour or so they'd be back in the place where he last saw his father and Samuel.

But Shannon wasn't the same man.

Rubbing his brow hard to try to get the ache away he looked to Tish. “Just, tell him to wrap it up good. Like really fuckin’ good. They can smell blood and we can't get pinned down.” Tish watched Shannon for a moment and confusion lined her features. But she shook it off and moved to where Reid helped Eamon.

“I'm not fuckin' dying here,” Shannon said to himself as he shivered.