Tara opened the kit and looked through the contents. “Here’s a couple of painkillers, and make sure to disinfect it every day until the stitches come out.”
“I’ll do that,” Alex said, taking the pills. “It’s Amy I’m worried about. She almost got trampled by a mob of panicking people.”
“Did you get hurt badly, Amy?” Tara asked with a frown of concern.
“My hand hurts because somebody stepped on it. I’ve got a bump on my head, and I twisted my ankle,” Amy replied. “My ribs are pretty sore too, but I don’t think it’s serious.”
Tara winced. “It sounds bad enough. Let me take a look.”
After a quick examination, it turned out that Amy was more bruised than anything else. With a couple of painkillers in her system and a bandage around her ankle, she was good to go.
Saul patched up Tara’s wound. Luckily, it was just a bump on the head and a shallow cut. All it needed was a dab of disinfectant cream and a band-aid.
“Dylan? How are you feeling?” Tara asked once she was done. “It’s hard to tell through all that dried blood.”
“I’m alright. Nothing new,” Dylan said. She looked down at her gore-streaked body. “I suppose I should take a bath.”
“That would benefit us all,” Saul answered.
“Yeah, no kidding,” Amy added, wrinkling her nose.
Dylan rolled her eyes. “Okay, guys. I can take a hint.”
“There’s no hot water, but I put toiletries and toilet paper in each bathroom along with a couple of towels.” Saul pointed upstairs. “There’s enough room for all of us. No need to share.”
“Why don’t you all wash up and settle in while I make breakfast?” Tara asked. “I’m starving.”
“Good idea,” Alex said. “Come on, Amy. Let’s put our stuff in our rooms.”
Alex and Amy went upstairs, and Dylan followed, plucking at her matted hair with distaste. There were two bathrooms. A decided bonus considering she’d be a while. At least the others could tidy up as well while she was busy.
Inside the wall cabinet, she found a tube of toothpaste and a couple of toothbrushes still in the wrapper. After brushing her teeth, she stepped into the shower, nearly jumping out of her skin when the icy stream of water hit her back. “Shit, that’s cold!”
At the speed of light, she soaped her body, scrubbing at the dried blood and gore. The bandage on her arm had to go, exposing her ugly wound to the light, but she ignored it. Vanity was the least of her worries now. Besides, she’d never been one of the pretty girls, preferring to be tough instead.
Her hair came next, and she tried not to gag when her fingers encountered bits of unknown tissue entangled in the locks. The water ran red around her feet, clouds of crimson swirling down the drain.
Now that everything was quiet, and she was no longer in danger, her brain had time to think. Time to look for trouble in places it really shouldn’t. George’s contorted face flashed before her eyes, his hulking torso looming over her like a giant from a storybook. Behind him, the nurse got to her feet with slow deliberation — a double threat.
Red hot rage swirled through Dylan like a vortex, filling her limbs with inhuman strength. She felt no fear, pity, or remorse: nothing but anger.
She swung the ax, sinking the blade deep into George’s forehead. The snarl slipped from his lips, and he looked befuddled as he crashed to his knees. The nurse was next, and her head flopped sideways as the ax chopped through muscle and membrane. A second blow sent it flying.
Dylan didn’t stop there. Her rage wasn’t spent. Instead, it grew stronger, and she hacked at the bodies with all her might. Blood, chips of bone, brain, and innards covered the carpet, a circle of death around her feet. Blood soaked her skin and hair, running in rivulets down her grinning face. It spattered the ceiling, covered the floor, and sprayed across the walls. At last, she stopped from sheer exhaustion.
Her lungs heaved for breath, and her muscles quivered with fatigue. The ax hung from numb fingers, and her mind refused to register what she’d done. What she was capable of doing. As the anger leached from her body, she felt empty. A vast void opened up inside her chest, and nothing could fill it. Not all the blood or corpses in the world could make her feel human again. She was a freak of nature — a monster.
A loud knock on the door tore Dylan back to the present, and she gasped as the awful memories fled back into the recesses of her mind. They left behind the ugly realization of what she’d become. What she was now that the cure ran through her veins.
Her knees wobbled, and she sank to the floor. The water streamed across her face, drowning out the world. She hardly registered when Tara entered the bathroom.
“Dylan? Are you okay?” Tara asked.
Dylan stared at her, and suddenly, her anger returned. It was Tara’s fault. She was to blame. It was her cure that had turned Dylan into a monster. Her lips twisted into a snarl. “What do you want?”
Tara’s eyes widened, and she took a step back. “I…I thought I’d check in on you and see if you needed anything.”
“As you can see, I’m just peachy,” Dylan said, her hands balling into fists.
Tara studied her with a somber gaze. “Are you sure? You don’t look alright to me. Is it the episodes? Are they bothering you?”
“What’s it to you?” Dylan snapped even though she knew she was being unfair. At that moment, she couldn’t help herself or her extreme reaction.
“I do care, Dylan. In a big way, I’m responsible for you, Saul, and that little girl, Mary.” Tara raised her hands, pleading. “You must try to control it. Don’t let the virus have its way with you. You’re not a victim. You’re strong.”
Dylan stared at Tara’s earnest face and made an effort to
