The Red Plague

One

Nikolette

Run.

That's all I ever did. The word haunted my dreams, took over my life. Hiding and run. How absolutely pathetic.

That word could be used to describe me, too. Pathetic. Letting everyone die to save themselves.

Yeah, I'd call myself pathetic, too.

Supposedly, I was the only way to the cure. The only way to save the planet. Because I was immune to the plague.

The Red Plague that everyone hated. The sickness that killed hundreds of people every day. The disease that was caused by ourselves.

An alien material that cured cancer actually caused a whole different sickness. Mankind traded one thing for another thing. A whole lot deadlier thing.

The Red Plague was not something I had to worry about, though. I mean, it had already had killed my entire family. If I had known that I was the only way to a cure at that time, then I would have gladly given myself up.

But now? There's no one else to give myself up for.

After my family had died, the doctors got ahold of me. They tested me, many, many times. Once they had concluded that I wasn't infected by the plague, they injected me with the virus.

Surprise, surprise! It didn't affect me.

Life didn't get much better after I escaped from the testing facilities.

I wouldn't exactly call it life. Mostly just a collection of feet pounding on gravel and waiting to see if it's the Government coming to get me.

About three months after my escape, I ended up in a gas station. That wasn't a very common thing for me to do, in fear that someone might recognize me.

It was an irrational fear, of course. The Government hadn't put up wanted posters or anything. They didn't want anyone to know of my importance.

But, unfortunately, I was out of food and was down to my last bottle of water. A gas station was better than a grocery store.

The cashier studied me before ringing up my items.

I got annoyed at his stares. "What?" I demanded. He flinched and tentatively shrugged.

"Um, that'll be ten thirty-six." He said quietly. He handed me the receipt before giving me my bag.

I glanced at the receipt. He had written something on it. It read:
"GOVERNMENT"

I looked up at the cashier with wide eyes. He turned his head to the side. I followed his line of sight and saw a tall man in the back of the store. He wore dark clothing and a black baseball cap.

The man's name was Agent Liams. I had heard it on his radio while he was looking for me. He was the one that they sent after me most days.

The cashier handed me my groceries. Then said, "Oh, the gas pump isn't working? I'd be happy to help you out." He gave me a pointed look before coming out from behind the counter.

"Thanks." I said softly before leading him outside of the store.

Once we were out the doors I turned to him. "Why did you help me?" I asked. "And how did you know who I was?"

He cleared his throat. "Um, my Dad used to work for the Government. I used to visit the building where he worked. Your face was on about every computer monitor there. Besides, Agent Liams isn't a very pleasant person to be around."

He led me around to the back of the station. "So, what did you do anyway?" He asked.

That almost made me stop walking. He didn't know what I did, and yet he helped me?

"I, uh, killed some people." Technically it was true. People died because they didn't have the cure I, apparently, could provide.

The cashier froze. "You killed people?" He said.

"They were, um, bad people. Criminals. They had killed other innocent people." I lied. For some reason, I didn't want this guy to think I was a selfish, inconsiderate jerk who only cared about herself.

He rose an eyebrow. "You killed killers?"

"A lot of them, actually."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Cool."

I coughed. "Cool?" This boy may have been even crazier than me.

"Mhm. I knew there was a reason I helped you. You're a good person."

"You're crazy. I killed people, and you think I'm a good person?" I said.

He shrugged. "They were bad people."

They could've been, some of them, at least. The death toll from the Red Plague could have included criminals. Of course, that didn't justify the millions of innocent people's deaths.

"Maybe." I muttered.

We stopped in front of a black truck. The cashier looked at me and held out his hand. "Elijah Robinson. Pleased to meet you."

"Nikolette Morris, but call me Nik."

Elijah opened the driver's side door and got in. The engine hummed to life, ruining the night's peacefulness. The headlights cut through dark scenery.

I pulled off my backpack and started putting my groceries into it. Then, swinging the bag onto my back, I headed toward the road.

"Hey!" Elijah yelled. I turned back towards him. "You coming?" He asked.

"Where?"

"Well, since I'm assuming that you are homeless, to my house." He said.

To my house. Why would he let me go to his house, to his home? I was dangerous, I already had told him as much. It made no sense. Killing people wasn't really a good reason to invite someone over.

"What about your Dad? Didn't you say he worked for the Government?" I said.

"He, um, died. From the Plague."

I felt like someone had stabbed me. His dad died because of the plague. A plague I could prevent, but hadn't. He was being nice to me, inviting me into his home, and yet I was the reason his dad wasn't cured.

"Come on, Nik. You don't have house. And we have a guest bedroom. Just one night then you can go back to sleeping in the woods." He said hopefully. It seemed like a good deal when he said it.

"Fine."