ContamiNation

Control

Brit

I turned back to Michael. He sat against the wall with his head back and eyes closed. I wanted to say something.

"Last chance." Wrong thing. I didn't even know why I said that. "Please, come with me. For Cassie," I added, nearly choking over the name.

He finally open his eyes. "For you." What? "You mean for you. Cassie doesn't give a damn about me and I don't give a damn about you."

"You do. I know you do. What was—everything we talked about, was that nothing?"

He shrugged. "I was bored."

I could feel every part of my aching body. My knuckles froze up even more, my stomach ached; it was as if someone ripped away every pain med, morphine drip, and adrenaline I had. "You—"

Michael's eyes closed as he reach for something, then threw it at me. The blanket I'd brought. I pulled it off my head and took the hint.

Mr. Gore closed the door behind me extra loudly. I was a spy, a puppet, a tool that the teachers would use to sell whatever story they wanted. But that didn't mean I had no leverage, no freedom, no mind of my own.

As we walked down the hall my hands continued burning, so painfully that I was scared I'd never be able to move them again. Mr. Gore noticed this and handed me a roll of bandages.

"It still hurts, I can't move them." I lifted up my purple, green, blue, and red hand.

"Cover them. If someone asks say you did an errand for us and screwed up due to your own incompetence."

I snorted. "Like anyone would—"

"They will." Mr. Gore still didn't look at me. For a 50-60-something-year-old he walked fast and we already stood before a main exit. "They believe anything to do with your stupidity. Do you have any idea how many people saw you go to that girl to help? They think you are trying to kill yourself. They think you're stupid and rash and possibly infected. So, do as your told. We are the only people who will talk to you."

With a shove out the door I stood—

Outside? The main street was clogged with cars, garbage...The smell. I gagged of the stench of bad, rotten meat, and burnt hair. I pulled the blanket over my face trying to smell anything else but it was to strong and in a few seconds the fabric was already infused with the odor.

I looked around through teary eyes. Why would they send me out here? Are they trying to kill me? What—they want me to say that I ran off, or for me to run off and stop being a problem for them. Oh, no, no, I am not falling for this bullshit.

Squaring my shoulders, I began to walk around the outside of the building; regrettably, following the bodies smells.

Downtown still looked the same. Everything looked the same, the buildings still stood in all their concrete glory, the bright blue sky mocked everything that has happened, and the cars clogged the streets. Except, it was quiet, and still, as if a busy day got trapped in a photograph, which did happen. It was a regular day when it happened, when? How many days has it been since the only worry in my mind was prom? I've already lost track of the days and it hasn't even been that long.

I circled around to the entrance. Security, workers, and teachers stood and worked. There was smoke coming from the highway. Not a lot, but it must've been massive if it was still burning.

I had to get inside and the only way was by walking through the front doors. It wasn't the best idea, but there were guards at the doors that I could make an excuse to.