Plagued

No Mans Land

As the sun set in the west, signifying the end to another day, I used a nearby stick to trace the ninth tally mark into the dirt beside my bunk. Today marked my ninth day of just existing. My life as I knew it, had ended the day that Thorne City banished the plagued into the outskirts of the districts, the uninhabited land between each gated city. Somewhere between the deceased city of Stoneham and the surviving city of Thorne, I would take my last breath.

In an attempt to block out the growing pressure against my chest, I tried to occupy my thoughts with how Thorne city would commemorate our forced sacrifice, possibly a statute with each of our names engraved. Cora Edwards, 16. Forever remembered as a martyr. I laughed to myself at the image, my default reaction to painful thoughts, but it was instantly regrettable. The vibration sent me into a furry of loud, uncontrollable coughing. The intensity hurdled my body onto all fours, spewing blood violently over my newly drawn line. I cursed inaudibly, still staring at the hard ground now covered in evidence of my body's dying state. I had learned from watching the progression of others' symptoms that this was not a good sign.

I laid back on my tarp-made bed and forced myself to focus on the sky. This had become my own form of therapy to reduce the constant stream of pain. The darkness temporarily disguised the devastation of my new reality and offered a distraction to my constant state of discomfort. The sky was visible through the break in the trees. The stars were not obscured by the city lights or diluted by the pollution of the smoke being spit out by the machines of the city. I forced myself to focus on the design of the stars and I worked every night to commit the patterns to memory. I wanted to remember their beauty. I knew that soon my world would become dark, and when that day came, I would no longer have the distraction of the stars.

We had chosen this location because of its unparalleled beauty. The trees stood higher than many of our buildings. I was grateful for their height; the branches reached out far enough to shade us from the strength of the sun during the daytime, but still granted us with a window to the stars. This is where we chose to spend the rest of our lives—or, at least what was left. Despite my admiration, I was not fooled by the beauty of the wooded scenery; here, under the protection of the green overcast, we were all left to die.

When the pang of sadness hit, my mind automatically - as if it was on autopilot - slipped back to moment that brought me the most joy. My brain seemed to have this natural mechanism that would try to combat the sadness with a happy memory, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. I tried to control the direction of my thoughts, I knew nothing positive could amount from the slip, but for a moment - a fraction of a second - I let his face drift into my mind.

Evan.

His piercing blue eyes, messy dark hair, and brilliant smile. The contrast of the happiness his memory brought, with the sadness of my new world, did not belong together. I physically shook my head, hoping the movement would force his memory from my thoughts.

I looked around at the rest of the survivors. Several bunks were scattered around the small lot of land that we claimed as our camp. In the farthest corner from my own bunk was an assortment of boxes; they were lined up and being used as a table. Organized across the table was our food, water and medical supplies. The guards gave us a limited amounts of each. It was meant to sustain us until the end, but judging by the waning supplies, they misjudged the amount of time we had left. In a few days, there would be nothing left. We would be forced to add starvation and dehydration to our growing list of symptoms.

Several of us traveled from Thorne together, but only a small number of us survived long enough to make it to our desired destination. There were probably about 20 people remaining at the camp and that number was rapidly decreasing.

Of those remaining, I did not know many of them personally; there was not much of a reason for introductions at this stage. There was one doctor, who made his presence known, and he spent the entirety of his time trying to ease the pain of those in the final stage. I admired his nobility. Despite his own pain, he treated the pain of those around him. Even with the waning resources, he continued to use the morphine to lessen the suffering, knowing that no one would be around to return the favor when it was his turn.

Aside from the doctor, there were a few students from my high school; they were grouped together in the opposite corner of the camp. One of the boys, Wyatt, I knew quite well. I purposefully distanced myself from him. He triggered memories I tried hard to escape from. I looked away from him quickly, hoping that I would not draw his attention.

Of the several people at this camp, there were two people that stood out the most, and it may have been due to an unwelcomed envy or the closeness of their bunk to my own. The girl, Lace, had long blonde hair that had somehow remained untangled despite the circumstances. She laid her head against Tim's chest, a burly man that seemed misplaced surrounded by the frailty of our condition. Judging from how they interacted, they were deeply in love. They cared for one another and attempted to keep each other in good spirits.

From my unintentional eavesdropping, I learned that he had sacrificed himself after she got infected. He could have survived, but he refused to leave her side. Their story was beautiful, although tragic. I envied their love and shared company. It was lonely out here. Despite my envy, I would never wish for the person I loved to share in this torment, and for that reason, I would die alone.