Allison screamed and blood ran from her mouth, dripping down onto her chest to the ground. She was pulled again and shocking pain hit her knees, then her face. She couldn’t hold on anymore; her muscles were twitching uncontrollably from the electricity.
She released the arm and staggered back, landing on something round and hard. She heard voices screaming, crying, fading away. She looked up and saw a man running away from her with a child in his arms. A child with his own arm barely attached to his body. Unconscious, bleeding, dying.
At her feet was a bright red apple, covered in dirt, half smashed. She shoved it in her mouth. She was so hungry. But she needed to leave. She had to leave.
The Wiltons’ living room eased back into Allison’s vision and the roar in her head waned. The burning was subsiding, leaving a light tingle in its place. Her muscles relaxed but continued to quiver from exhaustion. Her tears and sobs made it difficult for her to focus on her surroundings.
Dave picked her up in a quick, sturdy motion. He was stronger than he looked. He carried her to her bed. Sandra was right behind him, stroking Allison’s hair. He set her gently on the bed and left the room. Sandra pulled the rocking chair next to the bed and continued to stroke Allison’s hair in a soothing motion. Allison cried until her eyes ran out of tears.
“It was me,” she mumbled, looking at Sandra.
“What was you, honey?” Sandra asked in that motherly voice of hers.
“I killed that boy, that poor boy.” Allison’s voice was weak.
“You can’t be sure, you—”
“I know it was. It was me.” Tears flowed again, stinging her eyes.
Sandra didn’t react, only continued to run her fingers through Allison’s hair, like she was in a trance. Sandra was there, but her mind was somewhere else entirely.
“My daughter was sick, like you,” Sandra whispered with trembling lips. “She would remember things like you, but it didn’t seem as . . .” She searched for the right word. “Intense as what you are experiencing.” Allison’s tears slowed, and she wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands.
“What happened to her?”
Sandra looked out the window and paused before replying with a quivering voice, “Dr. Neff’s Collectors took her. He convinced her to help him find a cure for N87. Collectors told us she died.” Sandra leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands, her body shuddering. Tears trailed down her face causing her green eyes to shine. “I won’t let that happen to you,” she said firmly. Sandra wiped her eyes, sweeping her red hair behind her ears as she stood and left the room.
Allison felt ill, exhausted, and evil. The Infected were monsters. She was a monster. Dr. Neff had been right about that part. Nothing else could explain what she had done.
Dr. Neff
Dr. Neff stood above the boy who lay strapped to the gurney. His frail frame was tiny and did not accurately represent his age of nine years. A tray of silver instruments, syringes, and glass vials sat near him. Tears streamed down the boy’s face, but he didn’t utter a sound. Stupid, but brave. Dr. Neff picked up a large scalpel.
“This will be painful. But it is extremely important that you do not move.” He ran the blade across the boy’s hip, splitting open his skin, revealing pink, moist tissue in a one-inch gap. The child screamed, tugging against his restraints. Dr. Neff slammed down his fist onto the table near the boy’s head. The child’s scream halted, but tears rushed down his face, pooling on the steel beneath him.
“I said, be still. I must go into your pelvic bone. You will cause damage to your nerves and surrounding tissue if you move as I insert the needle. You may not walk correctly, if at all, if that happens. I advise you to remain still.”
“Would you like me to administer a sedative?” Dr. Samuel held a syringe near the boy’s IV port.
“No. No need to waste medication on a specimen.” Dr. Neff inserted the needle into the open skin, thrusting it deep into his pelvic bone.
The child’s body shook uncontrollably as tears flowed onto the gurney top. He jerked against his arm restraints, filling the room with a clattering of metal against metal. The buckles on his shackles clanged against the steel, leaving dents in the smooth surface.
“Sir, he may break free if we do not calm him.”
“Fine, administer half a dose of Versed.” Dr. Samuel administered the medication into the IV port.
“Boy. Listen. You must remain still. If not for your own sake, then for that of your mother’s. It would be a shame if something happened to her because of your poor behavior now, wouldn’t it?” Dr. Neff placed the scalpel down and picked up a large syringe from the side table.
A growl escaped the boy’s lips as the sedative coursed through the IV into his bloodstream. He jerked his arms again, slamming little fist-sized depressions in the metal. He went to jerk again but his arms fell limply to his side and his eyelids flickered, heavy with sleep.
Dr. Neff pulled back on the syringe as red bone marrow filled the tube.
Chapter Six Allison
Allison’s dreams were vivid, full of bloodshed, and uncomfortably intimate. She awoke in the night while the rest of the house was still and tiptoed to the kitchen. She flipped on the light above the sink. Her eyes scanned the room noticing areas on the old walls where pictures once hung but were now just nails sticking out from faded patches of wallpaper. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before. Probably because she was so wrapped up in herself and failed to realize the catastrophe that happened to her also happened to the entire
