Five years. It has been five years since the virus spread around the globe. Five years since the world fell into disaster. Five years since there was a sense of safety and security. Five years since Scott and Stiles were unwillingly split up for qua...
Scott has doubled over, trying to get his breath back. The infected are pushing against the door, scratching and snarling wildly. One of them manage to pull it open a little and I get a good look at their rotten faces. Their black, soulless eyes stare hungrily at me. I use my foot and my remaining strength and adrenaline to kick the closest infected in the face, sending it flying backwards. I push against the door, managing to slam it shut for good this time. Conveniently, it's a lockable door, so I quickly bolt it shut and lean against the door just as an extra precaution. I listen to the angry and outraged snarls and I can feel the infected banging on the door. Eventually though, they seem to move away. I breathe a sigh of relief. That relief is short lived though as a horrific pain shoots up my left arm once my adrenaline wears off. I hiss in agony and quickly look down to see what happened. I immediately tense up and my heart drops.
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The sight that I can see is horrific. One of the infected must have bitten me. I stare in horror at the bloody mess that is my arm. I can clearly see the distinct teeth marks from one of the infected. The wound feels like it is on fire as the blood continues to ooze out, dribbling down my arm even more. I stand up properly and move away from the door, holding my injured arm close to me. "Son of a bitch!" I shout in pain. God, it's just as painful as the first time. Horrible memories come surging back into my mind. I clench my jaw hoping to ease the pain, but it doesn't really work. My arm is shaking slightly and I try my best not to let tears form in my eyes. I have to be strong and remain calm, despite my racing heart. What is Scott going to think?
I glance up to see Scott staring at me with horror, eying my bleeding arm.
"Scott, can you hand me the first aid stuff from your bag? At least we kept that with us today." I ask in a nervous voice. Scott says nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stares at the wound, knowing exactly what happened. I can see tears forming in my friend's eyes.
"Come on, Scott. I need to clean and bandage this up so I don't bleed out or get some infection." I continue, but clearly I say the wrong thing, snapping someone inside of Scott. He rushes towards me and pulls out his gun and aims it at my head, ready to pull the trigger and allow a bullet to fly through my skull. I can feel the cold end of the gun against my forehead. I stare into Scott's mostly emotionless face, except for the few tears rolling down his cheeks. I freeze, not wanting to make any more wrong moves.
"You already are infected." Scott whispers in disgust. My heart breaks hearing Scott talk like this. The hatred, anger and sadness in his eyes right now is unbearable to look at. "Scott, please, just let me explain-"
"There's nothing to explain, Stiles! Look at you! You've been bitten! It won't be long before you won't even be you!" Scott interrupts me with a distressed and heartbroken cry, his hands shaking slightly as he grips onto the gun.
