When she woke up, the world buzzed in front of her eyes like a staticky TV. Organic objects only appeared as black and white, fuzzed out, like the inside of a blanket. Other objects and buildings were colored almost like a negative, but not directly opposite. The dirt on the baseball field was as green as grass, but the grass was charcoal gray. Someone painted the sky purple, and the silo which had been a dull rusted brown was a bright neon vermillion. Gradients had faded, and all differentiations in texture or dimension were punctuated by sharp cut-offs.

She was in the Red Land.

Shelly rose up, her stiff back protesting, a side-effect of the virus. No people as far as she could see, and the electric colors were hurting her eyes. She wasn’t meant to view the world like this.

Fortunately, the silo gave a great view, easy to pick out a shelter. Zanek’s was north, about five miles, and he’d have what she needed. She climbed down the ladder.