Winifred King was weak, she knew this. She wasn't her brother, Theodore-who was struggling to keep them both alive in this new world; fighting for everything whether it be food or their life. Though Fred didn't think that the world was any different...
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Chapter One
"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." -Eleanor Roosevelt
Chapter Quote: "Good. I don't want you doin' anything stupid, alright?"
*Warning *
Exhaustion settled deep into Fred's bones, her body becoming heavy; mind drowsy. The tiny pills they had given her seemed to have finally made their way into the blood stream. She had been fighting sleep, that's why they'd given her the pills that made her eyes stay closed for longer with each blink. Fred was having trouble sleeping—well, she wasn't really trying to sleep. Mostly because whenever she did close her eyes the news reports would fill her thoughts. A reporter's echoed words running around her mind, images flashing behind closed lids of piled corpses.
The reporters, every single one of them, say it's under control. However, the live broadcasts and army tanks told a different story. Fred was terrified; she'd be lying if she said she wasn't. This disease scared her out of her wits end; she wasn't safe here; none of them were, and those who thought they were safe were delusional. Fred was the only one who understood what was going on. Everyone around her was blinded by the idea of it getting better—but it wasn't going to get better. The Los Angeles Kindred Hospital was where anyone had or expected of having the disease was sent; air footage showed piles of bodies being buried in mass graves by the army who had set up and took over to control the outbreak. This had Fred assuming it was an airborne virus.
In fact, the more Fred learned about the disease through the news broadcasts the more she assumed it was the influenza virus—just crazier. And Fred . . . well she was trapped here, within the hospital, which was making her twitchy; causing her usual dreamy self to become anxious to the point where she wanted to claw at the walls until her fingernails pulled away from her skin. Fred wanted out.
Her twin brother, Theodore, even went as far as calling the epidemic a plague. Fred shook her head, as if that would rid the thoughts from her mind; hugging herself tightly as her eyes remained glued to the television screen—the live broadcast showing people walking around in hazmat suits or locals wearing medical face masks to fight off the virus. There was no cure, none that she heard of at least. If you had it, it meant death within days—the virus attacked the body too quickly for it to fight back.
