The liquid flows through my veins. I feel it consume every fiber of my being. The
pain is excruciating. As I draw my last breath, all I can think about is how pretty
my wife was before she died.
And how all of this was her fault.
Patient Zero
Hello, my name is Theodore Wayne. I am a sergeant at the Habore-Lase Attack Unit,
or HLAU. I live with my wife, Leah, and my dog, Sven. We have no children. I
recently came home from the most recent victorious war. Our country is safe once
again, but that may come with a higher price than just losing a few comrades.
The war left me traumatized. Sven is my PTSD Support dog, but he helps out Leah.
My wife is like a turtle that doesn't come out of her shell, but as of recently, she
has ceased to leave the bedroom. Its as if she is adamant about keeping the door
locked.
Sven keeps whimpering and sleeping at the door, but I suppose it's because
he feels useless if he can't comfort her.
I keep thinking something has happened
while I was at war, but she refuses to open up to me about anything anymore. It’s
like she’s afraid of something.
I've been home for no less than three days. I have had great difficulty sleeping,
especially since I cannot access my own bedroom. I keep having the same dream, I'm
back with the circuits. They're strangling me. Leah keeps appearing there. She
doesn't look like herself, she looks sick. She doesn't try to help me, but that's so
unlike her. It's almost as if she is the one controlling the circuits to attack me.
I wake up, out of breath, sweating through the sheets. I look at my clock, 03:24. I
get up off of the couch, and walk to the bedroom door. I lean my head against it,
and listen for her to see if she’s asleep.
I hear crying.
She's sobbing quietly, but what is she doing up after hours? I softly knock on the
door, just to see if she would answer. Of course, the only response I get is that
she holds in the tears; silence.
I try to jiggle the door handle to see if it would open. I found no such luck,
nothing except deafening silence. I called her name, “Leah…”, begging her to open
the door. I listen, but only to hear the faint sound of sheets rustling, then
nothing. Accepting defeat, I trudge to the couch as I slump down to fall back asleep.
I wake up in a matter of hours. It felt like seconds of sleep were what kept me
going; I woke in the early hours. My sleep schedule has not conformed to home life
just yet. I checked to see if maybe Leah came out for breakfast. I walked into the
kitchen only to realize that again, I will be eating alone this morning. As I am
eating my toast, I hear a faint scratching noise. I know it’s just Sven at my
bedroom door trying to get to Leah. “Sven”, I snap, “No more, she isn't coming out.”
As I'm talking to my dog like he is a human, I hear a scream.
I immediately jump up from my chair and rush to the bedroom door. “Leah? Leah,
are you okay?” I hurriedly ask.
I can't stand it, the silence was too suspenseful. I viciously jiggle the knob on
the door, and before too long I am slamming my weight against it, commanding it
to open against the will of the inanimate object.
YOU ARE READING
Patient Zero
Science FictionThe liquid flows through my veins. I feel it consume every fiber of my being. The pain is excruciating. As I draw my last breath, all I can think about is how pretty my wife was before she died. And how all of this was her fault.
