The Plague of the Immune

Prologue

Every thing changed that one September afternoon. The plague had spread to America, that horrible plague they called the Illuminesant Moon Disorder or IMD. Our bunker was fully equipped, we had everything we needed, but no one knew that it wouldn't be enough.

Enough to stop the officers.

Enough to stop them from taking me.

Away, away from my family, my home. Taken.

No cries or thrashing could stop their firm hold or the pound on my head that knocked me out. They hauled my slack corpse into the back of a van, which led to my high school.

I woke in the auditorium, others were looking asleep in their chairs, the fighters. Hours passed, and more teens were brought in. My friends huddled around me, but we knew that wouldn't last either.

Then the papers came, and names were read out loud. Immediatly some people were taken out. My friend Helen was taken, but we knew there was no use to fight this time. Taken.

Then they moved us. To classrooms where there were more papers for hours. Testing who would be fit for the future, who would be the smartest for the future. Abigail, my close friend. Taken.

Few remained, we fought. Fought, but some where killed, right in front of us. Taken.

Our school no longer our sanctuary, no longer the place for memories. Taken.

We fought for so many of our fallen friends and family. Our fallen communities and town. Our fallen world.

That one fight, the one that everything changed. They were going to ship us to a reserve across the country from our home in California. Taken.

Until the fist came at my head and I slept and slept into the abyss. The pounding and drumming didn't stop, tears in my eyes as I lay slack once more. A fighter is what they called me. A fighter.

I faintly remember waking at one point, waking finally from my slumber. Shackled to a table, tubes in my arms, a needle puncturing my skin. A discomfort in my right arm just above the elbow. A glance at a dark flat chip, an ID chip beneath my skin.

Then pitch again. I knew I was lost, going to their prison where we would become the future. Their future. Ours would become locked, chained, as prisoners. Stripped from our freedom and our home. Taken.

The Reserve they called it, anyone would think it was safe, reassuring, protecting. But they didn't know it took us away from our liberties.

As I slept, I thought of when I would wake. What the world would be like, but for now I wait. Wait for my chance, wait for the fight once more.

Myself, Taken.

...

I don't remember when it happened. I knew my body ached. I had lost much, didn't expect much, but I didn't expect this thing- this pain. Pain in my pounding head. Pain in my side.

I heard breathing. Not my own. I heard a shuffle and the mumbling of voices. Familiar, yet distant. I heard clanging of bars, the groan of metal.

I felt my head against cool, hard ground. A hard, sheet-covered bed pressed against my back that did nothing to stop the shivers rippling up and down my body.

My senses were new; awake. One more thing left to do. One last protocol that would start the endless fight.

A fighter they called me. A fighter is what I'd be. A fighter for life and until death. For a world stolen from my grasp. Taken.

My eyes flung open, for what seemed like the first time.

The endless fight had begun.