The aroma of her perfume filled his nostrils. Vanilla and lilac. She had worn the same scent since medical school. He leaned in, wanting to feel near her, to breathe her in. She took a step back.
“He looks well.” She gestured to the Collectors near her van. “Let’s move him.”
“I’m close, Natasha.” Dr. Neff turned off the battery connected to the cage.
“You always say that,” she said.
“I truly am. I have a fresh lead. I will cure him.” Her icy stare met his pleading eyes.
“I will hold on to him until you do. Your sector is not safe for him. You have a Resistance problem,” she said. Four Collectors gathered around the boy in the cage, lifting in unison. They carried the cage to the back of the white van. Natasha followed.
“Everyone has a Resistance problem,” he said as he trailed behind watching her hips sway as she walked.
“Not like you. Pay attention. Don’t dismiss them so easily.” She held up her hand, stopping the Collector next to her from turning the battery back on. She slipped her fingers through the cage, caressing Christopher’s hair. “It’s as soft as it ever was.”
Natasha’s eyes rimmed with tears as she stroked her child’s head. She pressed her head against the bars and stared at him as he slept. She squeezed her other hand between the bars, resting it on his cheek. Tears fell from her eyes. Nick placed a hand on her lower back, pushing his body against hers. He felt her tense under his hand.
“No, Nick.” She pulled her hands from the cage and distanced herself from his touch. “No.” She walked back to the open van and climbed in before slamming the door. Her Collectors followed.
The white van drove back down the dirt road and out of sight. Dr. Neff stared down the road until the haze of dust trailing the van faded. He brought his hand to his face, smelling the hint of her perfume left on it from their brief moment of contact.
“Sir, are you ready to go?” The Collector shifted uncomfortably.
“Yes. Let’s go.” Dr. Neff climbed into the van with the buzz cut twins. He reclined in his seat and rubbed his temples, letting his eyes close. The van sped over the uneven terrain. Each bump and jolt added a stab of pain to his throbbing head. If I can cure him, she will have to forgive me. He took his wallet from his pocket and removed the picture from the worn plastic window inside the flap. A smiling Natasha as she cradles toddler Christopher close to her chest. Christopher’s mouth covered in chocolate, the last trace of the ice cream he had devoured from the vendor on the boardwalk. Natasha’s eyes gleam of happiness. Her red one-piece swimsuit hugging all the right curves. He remembered her struggle between the bikini she loved or the one-piece she felt was more age appropriate. He tried to convince her to get the blue bikini she couldn’t stop adding to the cart every time she shopped online, just to remove it later. He almost bought it for her. But she came home with the red suit before he had the chance. He frowned. That’s not true. He had time. He could have bought it, surprised her, made her feel beautiful. But he was working. He was busy. He was always busy. He had even been too busy to go on with them on their annual family vacation to the beach that year. The one thing he promised to never miss. The last family vacation he would ever have a chance to go on and he blew it. He chose his career over his family. Then the outbreak happened. He somehow managed to get busier. Home less, working more. Then Christopher got sick, and he lost everything. She left me with nothing.
“Sir. We have something up ahead.” He opened his eyes and looked out the front windshield. Staggering down the middle of the roadway was a naked woman, bloody, dirty. She saw the van and stopped, watching it approach. Infected.
“You know what to do,” he said.
They parked in the middle of the road about one hundred feet from her. When the Collectors exited the van, guns drawn, she charged. The men fired. She went down a few feet from the van. Dr. Neff jumped from the van and walked toward her. She lay on the ground, writhing, floating between consciousness and the dark bliss of sleep. She swiped at him, but her arms were slow. Confusion spread across her face as the sedative took effect. Fluffy white foam flooded from her blood-stained lips. Her tight curls were knotted and scattered with debris.
“Do you want us to load her up?”
“No.” Dr. Neff walked to the van, lifted the back floor panel, and removed a crowbar. He picked up a hazmat face guard from the emergency kit and secured it in place.
He approached the woman again. She was asleep, almost. Bitch. He raised the crowbar above his head and brought it down on her head. A sickening crack echoed along the roadway as her skull gave under the metal.
She screamed. Blood pooled on the pavement, her curls floated in the stream of red.
Left me. He hit her again. Blood splattered across his shoes and pants. Took my son. The woman’s body spasmed on the ground. He brought the crowbar up above his head and brought it down again, this time across her back. You took everything from me. He slammed the iron against her skull. Her blood now spotted his face mask. Everything. He hit her again and again and again until he couldn’t see through the blood.
Chapter Eight Allison
Every day, Allison’s flashbacks decreased in frequency while they increased in clarity. Ordinary things triggered them, which made them impossible to avoid, but she was getting better at recognizing the signs of an upcoming attack. On a Tuesday morning
