The Immunity

Chapter Three

My parents were getting worse, especially my father, who only had about three hours left. My father's breathing was getting more and more ragged, it was clear that RD15 was starting to eat at his lungs. He couldn't stand up anymore, he was just too weak to move. I could tell he was dying, I could see it in his face and see it in his frail body that lay in the couch. His face was pale and sweaty and there were raw red patches in most places on his face. His body had passed the raw red patches and his skin had been eaten in some places so it was just flesh on his arms and legs. I could tell he was in intense pain by how much he struggled to breathe and how much he involuntarily groaned. It pulled at my heart, like a kitten playing with yarn. I looked at him miserably, this was the man who taught me to ride a hoverboard, who taught me how to use self defense, who was the strongest person I knew, and he was being beaten by a disease that I was powerless to stop. There was no cure for RD15, just death and after you get infected, it seems like the best option.

My father opened his eyes, "Phoebe..." He tried to speak but his voice was so weak that I had to lean in close, "It-s been ho-hours- you are-not infec-ted."

"I know Dad, I don't know why, I haven't shown any symptoms yet."

He whispered, "Y-our-re im-mune to i-i-it."

I stared at him in slight shock as he slipped into a deep sleep, "Dad?" I placed my fingers on his neck and breathed a sigh of relief when he had a pulse. Just as I brought the blanket over him, I heard a loud thump from the kitchen and shot up like a rocket, running to the kitchen to find my mother laying on the ground. I kneeled down beside her, shaking her shoulder lightly, her body was more fleshy than my fathers, she was worse than he was and she was only eleven hours into the disease and she was already passing up my father. She was weaker and didn't have the strength he had. With a shaky hand she reached up, her face sunken with no skin left, and held only to my hand tightly. "I-I love you," she told me, tears streaming down her distorted face.

I felt tears welling up in my own eyes, "Mom, I love you too. Stay strong for me, okay?"

She smiled at me, looking at my face with so much love that I sobbed. Then her look went distant and she was looking through me at something that I could not see as she took her last breath. My heart tore a bit, I could physically feel the pain rip it's way through my chest as I held the body of my mother to me, sobbing into her shoulder. Suddenly, Siri's voice spoke up over the house's speakers, "Phoebe Johnson, would you like me to call 911 to take the body of Emily Johnson away?"

I sniffled, wiping my nose with my sleeve, "No Siri, wait until Joshua Johnson-" I stopped to take a deep breath, "Passes away as well. Okay?"

"Okay, Phoebe Johnson."

I couldn't bring myself to move my mother's body so I left her there, laying her down perfectly, so she could look as though she was just sleeping. I returned to my father to find him wheezing so bad that it was like an endless hiccup, I couldn't bear to see him suffer like this, it was too painful. I got up, closing my eyes momentarily before heading into the kitchen, grabbing a small peeling knife from the drawer and returning to my father on the couch. I whispered to his unconscious body, "Dad, I'm going to take your pain away, okay? I'm going to ease your suffering." I grabbed his bony hand, ignoring the puss that oozed out of his flesh once I touched him. I heaved a deep breath, looking into his pain filled expression with dismay before I gently slit my fathers throat, just like I'd seen on TV. The TV programs failed to mention that in reality, it's much more surreal and mentally scarring. I watched as he died quickly, his face turning from pain to peace in a matter of a minute. I choked on air as I began to cry, pain tearing it's way through my heart, leaving me curled up against my fathers chest. I couldn't take the pain anymore, I was alone. I was so very alone, I had no one left that I could get to anymore. I heard Siri speak, "Calling 911."

I sniffled and wiped my eyes, sighing and shaking my head to calm myself down. There was a voice that came up, "911, what's your emergency?"

There was a lot I could tell her but I refrained from it, "Joshua and Emily Johnson are both dead from the RD15 disease."

"They are the last ones to die, except for you, how long do you have?" The male voice asked me over the intercom of our house.

"I'm not showing any symptoms yet," I told him, trying to sound brave.

There was a pause on the other line, then a female voice came over the intercom, "Miss, are you saying that you aren't showing any signs of peeling or red patches?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. Isn't that what "no sign of symptoms" means?"

The woman breathed a sigh of relief, "We'll send people your way now, they should be there in five minutes."

I nodded, then realized she couldn't see me, "Okay, thank you." I don't know why but I felt like I shouldn't have told them that I wasn't showing any signs of symptoms. I wasn't sure why but I felt like I might've just screwed up my entire life forever.

These were the longest five minutes of my life, I kept waiting for the front door to open but nothing happened. Finally, I heard tires on the street, I sighed, standing up as the door burst open and the authorities swarmed in. They wore hazmat suits and gas masks, I looked at them and felt a pain in my back. I yelped in surprise, reaching behind me to pull out the dart, but it was too late, I already felt myself passing out. I fell to my knees before I passed out entirely, darkness enveloping me.