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Dead snakes littered the ground outside the aging farm house. Their twisted bodies still twitched with the last breath of life. Death always preceded their arrival.

“Step away from the window, Tara. There isn’t much time left.”

His words trailed off, obscured by the sound of rifle shells clattering onto the wood floor.

Six hours swept by in a blur. Tara still gripped the sides of her head when the sun first rays washed across the room.

“Tara? It’s over, we did it.”

Michael’s weak smile told Tara otherwise. In twelve hours the madness would begin again.

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