Vial #127

Chapter 35: Complicated Opponents

"What do you mean quarantine?" I ask, demanding an answer.

"When they shot Peter, they got everyone to go into close quarters in the Atrium. They even made people in the infirmary come. The three with a fever multiplied over and over within minutes. After they took you away, they made us come with you and locked us in." I hold my hand up and pull down a section of the blinds. Through it, the entire Atrium is empty, the stage still standing at the front. Peter's body remaining still, his blood is rolling down the sides and onto the floor.

"So you're telling me that we could all be infected? That we could just all fall dead within hours? What do we even know about this? I thought the fever was just a flu?" The panic in my voice makes a few people tense up in worry.

At first there's only silence as they all acknowledge the information. Then Will speaks up, "We know that it's airborne and contracted through bodily fluids, so there's a high chance that every one of us will get it," he adds an edge to the last phrase in frustration.

"What are the symptoms? What can we do to stop it?" I need out; we need to leave we can't just die here.

"Fever is the first, then the itchiness and rash, and delusion. That's the farthest they got before they died." Jackson holds his hands together, bracing for the worst.

"Someone died? Who? How long did it take?" I am frantic, suddenly feeling that every particle in the air that I touch is an infected cell ready to take over my body.

"It was a young boy; that's all we know," Sadie comes over with a bottle of water, gently tipping it up into my mouth.

I thank her, then start ripping up the sheets, handing them out as face masks. "I say that we should all just stay away from each other, just talk, not come into contact," I raise my voice so that everyone can hear through the fabric.

Thank god that Aiden and my Father and Diana are still in confinement. They won't have been exposed to the strain; they're safe. For once the prison cells are doing more good than bad. I hold onto that thought as we all sit in silence.

A figure in armor and a mask comes to the door. With gloves on, he delivers more water and packaged food that we split evenly among ourselves, leaving two packs left over. "That could be our way out. We could tackle the guard and just leave, free the rest from their cells and just go." I am always trying to escape. I try and save most of my resources until needed but just minutes after, I'm munching a peanut granola bar.

"What are we going to do? Just sitting here and waiting to be freed?" I question the situation, terrified of the unknown.

"Maybe we should just wait it all out," Will still avoids eye contact, too afraid of the events.

"But maybe we should try and leave. We can't stay here and wait for everyone to just die. We're not even sure what it is!" The viewpoint is Sadie's. She comes over and peers out of the window.

Through it, I can see armored figures pulling out bodies into a pile in the middle of the Atrium. There's already three there, along with Peter's. Their faces are faded, their blood cold; another body is being dragged out of a room. On the guard's face is a gas mask, protecting his airways from transmission.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Will wipe his forehead in frustration. We can't go out like this, not in a world lost, gone, taken over by biters.

I don't want to sneeze or cough or even breath because then the others might think I am sick. I fear that no matter how far apart we are, we'll all infect each other in the end. This current world that I'm living in is frightening, every move I make could put everyone at risk.

Every reaction my body creates, alarms me, makes me think that it could be a symptom. When I feel cold, I feel as if I've gotten a fever, when really, the room is cold. When my vision misinterprets something, I feel like I am delusional but really, I haven't slept in hours.

The night goes by, then morning and the afternoon. The pile of bodies grows. I can no longer count the individual corpses pilled on top of each other. There are arms and legs sticking out the side. The skin on their faces grows tight and then sags in at their cheekbones, or sinks in around the eyes.

The night comes again; still no new food has arrived and my stomach is guilty for chowing down the whole granola bar the previous night. I stay in the bed, as the others make their own out of chair cushions and the floor. All of us seem to be fine but the incubation period of infection varies. We could still be infected.

The constant breathing of the group is even, deep and smooth, gently gliding in and out of our lungs. The world slows down; I can hear faint coughing through the walls, quiet yells of terror as loved ones go down sick. "That won't happen here." I am determined. Jamie lies on the floor beside my bed. I tried to switch spots with him but he said that I need to rest and recover.

Now as I try to gain sleep, I hear the constant dragging of bodies as more of the ill fall into death. Suddenly through the dark, through the movement of the bodies, comes a noise; an unsettling one that puts us all on edge. It comes from the far corner of our room, loud and clear, slicing through the stillness. A ragged, infected cough coming from Will.