Dead struck

Chapter Sixteen

OMG, I WAS OBVIOUSLY JOKING! CHILL PEOPLE XD So many of you freaked out (it was quite touching tbh) when I said that was the end. I'm not that mean, I would never end it like that. I cant kill Remy... Yet :)

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When you know you have less than three days to live, sleep becomes impossible, even when there's nothing else to do at all. Sometimes, I'd hear Lazlo singing or Harlow crying, but they sounded too far away to really talk to. 

An armed guard brought me a meal three times a day, consisting of bread, raw vegetables, and water. I ate mostly because I was bored. My appetite had already died. What sleep I did manage was filled with horrendous nightmares. Vivid dreams of me turning into a monster and killing all the people I cared about. Even people who were already dead, like Vega, Lia, and Beck, and my parents. I tore them apart, and I woke up screaming. 

"Remy!" Lazlo shouted, his voice muffled through the walls. "Remy!" 

"I'm okay!" I yelled back, even though it hurt. 

My throat had gone raw from screaming. My cheeks were wet with tears, and I wiped at them with the back of my hand and struggled to sit up in bed. 

"I'm alright!" 

"What happened?" Even the distance couldn't mask the panic in Lazlo's words. 

"Nothing! Bad dream!" I wanted to lie, but there was nothing else for me to scream about. 

Except for turning into a zombie, which I'm sure he thought was happening. So did I, but I didn't seem to have any symptoms yet. I felt like hell, but I was covered in untreated wounds, including a giant bite. My clothes were filthy and covered in dried blood. I hadn't bothered to try to clean them off or tend my injuries because I kept expecting to die any minute.

 I lifted up my shirt to investigate the worst of it. The edges of the bite were red and swollen. The wound itself had partially scabbed over, but it kept breaking open and oozing blood and pus. My blood still looked like blood. It hadn't taken on that greenish hue yet. I had a thin cut across my stomach from when I had sliced it on a piece of glass in the car, but I only worried about it because I'd been splattered with zombie viscera. Broken glass had also scratched up my knees and legs, but they were too small to even care. I had bruises all over, and my entire body was sore from the car rolling and the fighting. It was only natural that I felt like hell.

 I analyzed every pain and groan, wondering if that was a symptom. They might be normal aches and pains associated with everything I'd gone through, or they might be the virus killing my body. A heavy knock came at the door, followed by Tatum commanding me to get back. I'm not sure if that was standard whenever they opened the door, or if that was just for my benefit since I had put up such a fight about going in here. Although, in my defense, I hadn't fought at all since then. I hadn't even asked about Max. I'd been trying to accept my fate. 

"Suppertime." Tatum opened the door, and the metal tray clanged when he shoved it in. 

"It's supper?" I squinted at the sky through the small opening in the door. Time had no meaning inside a metal box. 

"Yeah." Instead of slamming the door like he normally did, Tatum hesitated. "It's almost done. The 72-hour-hold ends at 2200 hours, but to be on the safe side, you're staying in until after breakfast. That's only one more meal, and you're free." 

"You mean..." I trailed off, confused. "Already?" 

"That is the first time anyone has ever said that to me about the clean huts." Tatum looked genuinely shocked, but then he shrugged, deciding that nothing made sense when it came to me. "I'll be back for your tray in an hour." With that, he shut the door, leaving me with my thoughts.