once stood. Although only eleven years old, George Washington realized that he was now the master of the Ferry Farm plantation house. And his father was truly gone.
Augustine Washington had found the one certain, selfless way to protect his family and stop himself from becoming one of the walking dead. He had consigned himself to the fiery oblivion of suicide, even to the potential peril of his own immortal soul.
Chapter 3
It Takes a Village
The Sawyer plantation sat along the banks of a small, meandering creek about twenty miles south of Fredericksburg, Virginia. The plantation was, in point of fact, more of a small village than a single plantation, with tens of individual farmers building homes across the width and breath of the plantation grounds.
Elderly Jeremiah Sawyer, realizing a few years ago that he was too old and infirm to efficiently farm his 600 acre plantation, invited homestead farmers to rent plots of his large plantation and to raise crops of their own choosing. Sawyer collected a fee of 30% of the crops raised, with the individual farmer keeping 70%. Thus, a thriving and efficient community had sprung up here, which the residents had begun to call the Village of Sawyerville.
On this quiet Sunday afternoon, the farmers and their families had gathered in the yard of the Sawyer House, the unofficial town hall, for an informal village picnic. The women were busy at work preparing assorted breads and fruits and vegetables for the meal, while the men tended a large pig being spit-roasted over an open pit. The children played in the field near the dirt road just behind the main house.
In these simple days of 1743, children in colonial Virginia amused themselves with outdoor play across the meadows and streams of this vibrant land. The children climbed trees and skipped stones across lakes and rivers. They swam in the streams and chased squirrels and rabbits through the woods. They played games like “hide and seek,” or “throw the black child into the pond.”
On this sunny afternoon, a strange sight greeted the children who played in the meadow behind the Sawyer farm. From along the dirt road came three unholy beings, staggering towards the farm. They appeared to be men, although their clothing was in tatters and two of the men had pale faces that made them look unearthly and ghost-like. The third man had a dark, sinister visage, as if his entire face had been charred and burned.
The children all stood silent for a moment, unsure if they should approach the strangers or run away. One of the children, a simpleton child by the name of O’Riley, headed towards the road and into the midst of the strange creatures. The other children stood watching, silent and transfixed.
Chubby little O’Riley walked up to the three strangers, stood surrounded by them for the briefest of moments, before they set upon the lad and began to devour him! They pulled him apart, arms and limbs torn asunder before they cannibalized him in a bloody buffet of death.
The other children all ran screaming in the direction of their parents, who had already noted the approach of the strangers. Seeing the carnage, the women screamed also, some fainting, while the men grabbed whatever farm implements were close at hand and charged the three bloody creatures. The angry mob soon descended on the monsters, striking and beating them, impaling them on pitchforks and slicing them with sickles, all the while the creatures still fought on, even after many minutes of mortal wounds being dealt.
By sheer force of numbers, the creatures were soon subdued and pinned to the ground, then tied fast with thick, strong rope, and were at last immobile.
“What are they?” asked Henry Fleming, while the
Augustine Washington had found the one certain, selfless way to protect his family and stop himself from becoming one of the walking dead. He had consigned himself to the fiery oblivion of suicide, even to the potential peril of his own immortal soul.
Chapter 3
It Takes a Village
The Sawyer plantation sat along the banks of a small, meandering creek about twenty miles south of Fredericksburg, Virginia. The plantation was, in point of fact, more of a small village than a single plantation, with tens of individual farmers building homes across the width and breath of the plantation grounds.
Elderly Jeremiah Sawyer, realizing a few years ago that he was too old and infirm to efficiently farm his 600 acre plantation, invited homestead farmers to rent plots of his large plantation and to raise crops of their own choosing. Sawyer collected a fee of 30% of the crops raised, with the individual farmer keeping 70%. Thus, a thriving and efficient community had sprung up here, which the residents had begun to call the Village of Sawyerville.
On this quiet Sunday afternoon, the farmers and their families had gathered in the yard of the Sawyer House, the unofficial town hall, for an informal village picnic. The women were busy at work preparing assorted breads and fruits and vegetables for the meal, while the men tended a large pig being spit-roasted over an open pit. The children played in the field near the dirt road just behind the main house.
In these simple days of 1743, children in colonial Virginia amused themselves with outdoor play across the meadows and streams of this vibrant land. The children climbed trees and skipped stones across lakes and rivers. They swam in the streams and chased squirrels and rabbits through the woods. They played games like “hide and seek,” or “throw the black child into the pond.”
On this sunny afternoon, a strange sight greeted the children who played in the meadow behind the Sawyer farm. From along the dirt road came three unholy beings, staggering towards the farm. They appeared to be men, although their clothing was in tatters and two of the men had pale faces that made them look unearthly and ghost-like. The third man had a dark, sinister visage, as if his entire face had been charred and burned.
The children all stood silent for a moment, unsure if they should approach the strangers or run away. One of the children, a simpleton child by the name of O’Riley, headed towards the road and into the midst of the strange creatures. The other children stood watching, silent and transfixed.
Chubby little O’Riley walked up to the three strangers, stood surrounded by them for the briefest of moments, before they set upon the lad and began to devour him! They pulled him apart, arms and limbs torn asunder before they cannibalized him in a bloody buffet of death.
The other children all ran screaming in the direction of their parents, who had already noted the approach of the strangers. Seeing the carnage, the women screamed also, some fainting, while the men grabbed whatever farm implements were close at hand and charged the three bloody creatures. The angry mob soon descended on the monsters, striking and beating them, impaling them on pitchforks and slicing them with sickles, all the while the creatures still fought on, even after many minutes of mortal wounds being dealt.
By sheer force of numbers, the creatures were soon subdued and pinned to the ground, then tied fast with thick, strong rope, and were at last immobile.
“What are they?” asked Henry Fleming, while the
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