I walk down the hospital hallway, crossing my fingers, hoping, just hoping that they'll still be alive. This is what it's come to: Me hoping everyday that I won't be the only one left, because that's my greatest fear. Being the Only One.
I reach the room with my family in it, # 68. I take a deep breath and walk through the door. There they are, lying in hospital beds like a bunch of sickos. And really they are. Sickos I mean. They have the disease. Six months ago, a disease was started, nobody knows how it got here, what it is, or, most importantly, how to cure it. They call the disease Havoc. It's name is kind of self explanatory. It's chaotic, crazy, a wild animal, that's just been released from it's cage.
I look down at my family and see the faces I see everyday I come in here. Their skin is tinted a pale yellow, their eyes are bloodshot.
The disease comes in stages. First: you get an awful cough and pretty soon start coughing up blood. Second: you can't breath on your own and if you don't get oxygen pumped in you 24-7, you'll die. Third: your skin, bones, and pretty much everything else on and in your body starts to rot. Ending with your heart. And then there's nothing.
Thousands upon thousands have died from the disease, yet the stupid doctors have still not figured out any way to even just stop it from spreading. They just say, "Wash your hands often, don't touch your face, and wear a face mask around people with the disease."
I look down at my mom. She looks up at me and smiles weakly, then bursts into a fit of coughing. A small bit of blood spurts out of her mouth. I grab a rag and wipe it away. "Hey mom," I say.
"Robyn." she croaks, as if my name is new on her tongue.
"How do you feel?" I ask her.
"Fine," she says, "Just fine."
I raise my eyebrows questioningly. She points to the water on the T.V. stand. I grab the glass and bring it over to her. She takes a small gulp of the water and brings it away from her mouth. I put the water back on the T.V. stand. When I turn back towards her, she's asleep. I move to my dad's bed. I tap his shoulder and he rolls over. "Hey dad," I say, "Do you need anything?"
"Maybe a hug." he says in a husky voice, smiling. I wrap my arms around him in an awkward embrace because he's lying down.
"I love you, dad." I tell him. And I really mean it. Any day could be my last day with him, or really, any of my family members.
"I love you too, Robyn Hope." Hope is my middle name. And my parents really do think I have a hope for a future. They only think that because I haven't caught the disease yet. Yet. I give my dad a kiss on the cheek and move to find my mischievous twin brothers. They're in a different room than my parents, but I think that was an awful idea. I think they should've been put in room #68 with my parents so someone could keep an eye on them.
I walk to room #93. I open the door cautiously, readying myself for some trap they must've sprung. Surprisingly, nothing jumps out at me. Yeah, that's what it's like being the older sister of twin brothers. But, I think this is the first time I've come into their room without being covered by weird gooey stuff that they made. I breath a sigh of relief.
I look towards their bed and see big lumps under the covers. I walk over and pull back the covers. "Logan! Liam!" I yell their names. They aren't in here. They won't survive more than 15 minutes without their breathing tubes. I run out of their room, down a hallway, and into the main kitchen. I look in the walk in freezer, the pantry, everywhere in the kitchen before moving on.
I run down the hallways, looking through every door calling their names. I slump against the wall. I've completely given up. They're probably dead by now because of how stupid they are. They should be in bed. Or setting a trap for me. Or in the cellar drinking wine. But no, they're dead. It's been way more than 15 minutes.
I snap my head up. The cellar! They always go to the cellar to get wine and get drunk! I run as fast as I can to the cellar door. I run down the stairs, taking them 3 at a time. I get to the bottom of the stone steps and see them chugging the wine. They get done at exactly the same time and then slam their bottles together, when they're trying to raise them.
"I got done first!" Liam says in a slurred voice.
"No, I did!" Logan says, equally slurred.
"HEY!!!" I yell. They both look at me in surprise and then start laughing like I'm the funniest thing they've ever seen. I glare at them.
"I thought you guys were dead because you weren't in your room, hooked up to the oxygen machine! Go back to your room now! Before I get Dr. Staier." They look at each other, scared and run up the stairs past me.
Dr. Staier is probably the most strict, mean doctor there is. The boys are terrified of him. I better go check on them, before they get into more mischief. I walk up the stairs and through the hallways to their room. I hear a banging around in there so I shove the door open.
"Hey what did I say abou-" I'm cut off by a pillow flying into my face. I throw it on the ground and look up. Logan and Liam are fighting with pillows and shoving blankets in each others faces.
"Good Heavens!" I say, "How old are you guys, three?!?" Liam stops for a split second and says,
"No, but I'm three seconds older than him." He points at Logan. They're fourteen, they should be more mature than this, but they aren't. I walk towards them, throw the pillows on the floor and shove them down on their beds.
"CALM DOWN!" I say as forcefully as I can.
"Why do you have to ruin all the fun?" Logan complains.
"Yeah, you're just old and like to boss us around!" Liam agrees. My anger suddenly fades.
"I'm not old." I say, "I'm seventeen." I wink at them and walk to the door. Then a thought comes into my head.
"Wait, how did you guys stay, you know, alive that long without your breathing tubes? You're not supposed to be able to breathe on your own."
"We made a portable breathing thing on our own... It kinda ruined the one next to our bed but..."
I shake my head, smiling, and walk out of the room.
