Budbreak Disaster -- fiction by Samuel Claassen

The valley has two kinds of fog. The first kind comes from the ocean. It arrives in a sweeping blanket of white that stretches over the coastal mountains to the west, enveloping rows of grapes one by one, leaving only the triangle peaks of the tallest farmhouses uncovered, the tourists might hate it but it’s what gave Napa grapes their signature taste. 

The second kind of fog is a different story. It comes from the ground, rising up like wispy fingers emerging from the depths of hell. Swallowing up its surroundings in its red tinged mist, blowing in nonexistent wind like some macabre dance. Legend has it that when this fog rises, all hell breaks loose.

Austin Hostetler had never experienced this kind of fog before, in fact, until ten minutes prior he’d been convinced that it was just a scary story his Grandma would tell him to stop him from misbehaving.

But now he nervously glanced out the window, eyeing the red trails slowly rising above the valley. In the distance he could hear the whoops and cheers of guests at the Budbreak Celebration, unperturbed by their surroundings. 

Busiest day of the season… he thought to himself. 

The severity of the situation set in and he tried frantically to remember what else his Grandma had said about the fog. She’d always been so serious about it.

“Never go outside in it,” She would tell him, “Never breathe it in.”

He could vaguely remember her advice for if this happened, “If you see it, go to our emergency room.”

The memory snapped him back into reality. He sprinted downstairs, praying that the emergency preparedness box the family had packed was still in the bathroom. He flung open the cabinet, relieved to see the container where he remembered it, filled with emergency supplies. He searched the box, retrieving one of the gas masks.

Austin slipped the mask on and sat on the toilet. In the background he could still hear the sounds of celebration, except, was that celebration or screams? He wondered what would have happened had he taken the shift tonight like he was supposed to. If Brayden hadn’t begged him to give it up so he could get the tips.

Brayden. He straightened up in a panic. His friends were all out there. 

No, no, no. They can’t be out there. They don’t know what’s happening!

The panic that had been slowly abating returned in an instant. He couldn’t leave them helpless. He quickly rifled through the cabinet again, hanging the other masks on his arm, determined to save his friends.

Austin unlatched the door and sprinted up the stairs and through the front door. The first thing he noticed was how quickly the fog had spread. The trails of fog were now rivers of red, accentuated by the setting sun. They cascaded over the hills of the valley, consuming his home. With one last adjustment of his mask, he took off through the grapevines.

Outside, he felt certain the sounds were not of celebration, but horror. Up ahead was the firepit where the Budbreak Bonfire was scheduled. He could just barely make out figures moving erratically around the flames. He crouched lower and crab-walked to the edge of the field. Closer now, the scene before him became clearer. 

It was pure violent chaos. Hoards of guests swarmed the area, attacking each other with any and every weapon they could find. To his right, he watched in horror as a man brought a piece of firewood violently down onto another man trying to crawl away. The victim laid motionless on the floor as the attacker turned, scanning for another. 

Austin realized too late he was in his line of vision and they locked eyes. There was a moment where the world seemed to stop, then Austin stood up and took off. The crazed guest followed him, yelling unintelligibly. Hearing his call, others joined the race. Soon he was trailed by not just one assailant, but five, six, seven. 

He hopped the stone fence separating the firepit from the front lawn. The fog obscured the ground in places, making it hard to run. Behind him, a woman carrying two butter knives lost her footing on a rock and crashed down. Austin didn’t look back. 

If they are anywhere, it’s got to be in the staff room, he thought. Otherwise…

He dashed through the staff door at the back of the house, sprinting down the stairs. Behind him the crowd of assailants followed. Once in the cellar, he weaved between the shelves until he finally reached the staff door.

He burst through and nearly cried at the site. All three of his friends stood in the corner, alive, with faces white as ghosts.

“Listen… we don’t have much time,” He panted as he handed them each a mask.

“Put these on, then follow me. We have to get back to my house!” 

They complied shakily. A chorus of footsteps sounded outside the door. The horde had arrived.

Austin turned towards the door, terrified for what was coming, “We’re gonna have to fight our way out.” 

Luis pointed towards the back of the room where a messy assortment of personal items lay, “We should each take something to use as a weapon.”

They all nodded in agreement.

“On three, ok?” Austin said, hands on the door handle, “One, two, three!”

They burst out of the room screaming. The attackers had just turned the final corner into the cellar and yelled back ferociously, picking up speed as they locked eyes with their target. 

“Stay together!” Austin cried over the noise.

The four of them shifted closer to one another, preparing their makeshift weapons. As the guests reached them, all hell broke loose.

Austin ducked a broken wine bottle and drove his letter opener into the man. Blood poured out of his stab wound and for a moment, his eyes conveyed a humanlike shock, then they glossed over as he collapsed onto the ground.

Sounds of fighting filled the cellar. Luis cried out in pain as his shoulder was impaled by a roasting stick. He returned the blow to his assailant with his fire extinguisher, knocking the woman out. 

“We need to run, we have to get back to my house!” Austin called to them, ducking a fist. 

“The entrance is too busy, we have to go back through the staff entrance!” Emma replied desperately.

“Let’s go!” Brayden screamed.

They abandoned their battles, sprinting together back the way Austin had come. Bodies were strewn across their path, bloodied and beaten. They dove into the rows of grapes, the guests hot on their tail.

Approaching Austin’s home he called to his friends, “We have to go to the downstairs bathroom.”

He pulled open the front door, letting his friends stream in and closing it behind them. He flipped the lock and ushered them down the stairs into the bathroom. 

They stuffed themselves into the tiny space and Austin shut the door just as they heard the first window upstairs be smashed. 

“We’re safe!” Austin heaved.

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Samuel Claassen is a high school writer currently based in Eugene Oregon. He draws inspiration from his environment and childhood in the San Francisco Bay Area.