Chapter 4: Bryson

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I met a girl at the camp her name is Brenda I think she's with Thomas but we've become friends, she wears her usual dark red tank-top with black jeans, buckle-up black combat boots and her hair tied up in a high ponytail with pieces sticking out at random with the humidity and training. A figure walks closer to where I stand, slouching as they walk, the figure comes closer and without my knowing my fingers clamp around a bo staff, my knuckles turning white. The figure straitens up and I notice it's Brenda, he cheeks red-stained from tears and her eyes puffy. She wipes them away before she stepped into the light provided by a tiny caged lightbulb which was attracting flies. "Brenda?" I ask reaching out to her with my free hand wondering what was wrong.
    "Bryson, I...," She stutters looking away and rubbing her shoulder with hand where I had touched her, "If I were you I'd stay away from me, I don't want anything to happen to you or your friends or you I don't know how it happened I thought I was immune but I guess not." She burst out into tears covering her face with her hands
    "Brenda what the hell are you talking about?" I demand my voice ridden with panic and fear, "what the bloody hell are you talking about" I demand my voice filled with more force and anger than panic and fear.
"The flare," she swallowed a single tear running down her face, "I'm not immune

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