For the first third of Wanderers, it seems like this is a fairly straight forward mystery: what is making seemingly healthy, random people rise from their beds and sleepwalk in a group across America? They have no uniting characteristics and no history of sleepwalking. They cannot be stopped or else they heat up and literally explode (it’s as gross as you imagine). They do not eat, defecate, speak, or even blink. Syringes cannot pierce their skin. They move in tandem silently, like a school of […]
I roam around around around around around….
Wanderers by Chuck Wendig













