by Stevie Kopas
Gordon pulls her closer to him, grabbing her hand and bringing it up to his lips. He holds it there for a moment, losing himself in her the way that he used to. He allows all the ill-feelings toward her to melt away, his bitterness and her transgressions meaning nothing now.
“I love you, Elena,” he whispers.
Elena thinks back over the past nine years, her fears of wasted time are fading, and her resentment toward Gordon disappears. She trembles, shedding more tears. “I love you too, Gordon. I’m so sorry, for everything.”
His lip quivers, “Me too.”
They embrace on the office floor, covering each other in kisses the way they used to, but they’re once again interrupted by screams and explosions, this time much closer. There’s pounding at the back door now and Elena whimpers with fright. They sit upright and Gordon pulls Elena close to him.
“Ignore that, shh, it’s okay, look at me.” He soothes her. “Do you remember when we got married, all you said you wanted in life was to grow old with me, and leave this world with me by your side?”
She laughs, despite the growing intensity of their dire situation, and nods. “At least I’ll get half of my wedding day wish.”
She buries her face in his chest and he wraps his arms around her, blocking out the sounds of the back door splintering and cracking from its frame. Shrieks fill the store beyond the tiny office and the front windows shatter. An unknown number of infected fill the building with their animalistic cries and their frenzied footsteps.
Elena sobs into Gordon’s chest, and it’s all he can do to stroke her hair and tell her it will all be over soon. He thinks back to just this morning and remembers how big his own problems seemed, but now, he couldn’t even pinpoint just one if he tried. It was too hard to focus on the small stuff when the bigger problems were literally banging down the door. He looks down at Elena and plants a kiss on her forehead. He’d always heard that tragedies bring people together. He thinks life is funny in that way.
Elena looks up into Gordon’s eyes and smiles. Her mother was wrong about them. They were definitely meant to be together in the end.
Between the incessant sound of bodies slamming into the office door, and the increasing roar of the firebombs ripping through Manhattan, Gordon finds himself no longer whispering as he smiles down at Elena’s beautiful face.
“Don’t take your eyes off mine, not even for a second.”
Patient 63
Dr. Kennedy pulled back from his microscope with a gasp. He leapt up from his stool with such gusto that it went clattering to the floor behind him. Tears welled up in his eyes and he brought his hands to his pale face.
“I can’t believe it.” He muttered through his fingers, a grin tugging at his lips.
He ran from the dark office and through the corridors of the facility, his dirty lab coat trailing behind him. He flew through a set of double doors, startling the other doctors in the room.
“I’ve done it!” Dr. Kennedy shouted. He made a face, realizing his mistake. “We’ve done it!”
The three other doctors looked to each other, a myriad of emotions overtaking them.
They leapt from their seats, just as Dr. Kennedy had, and embraced one another, cries of joy filling the room.
Dr. Kennedy walked to a desk in the far corner of the room, leaning on it, a single tear streaming down his face. He picked up the radio on the desk and pushed a button on the side.
“Major,” he spoke into it, “you’re not gonna believe this.”
***
Six-hundred and thirty-seven days had passed since the onset of the outbreak that claimed over half the world’s population. A string of terrorist attacks had spread the deadly chemical through the major cities of America and her allies. Only instead of killing citizens, it transformed them.
Within minutes, innocent people all over the world fell victim to the bio-weapon. Those exposed tumbled to the earth, their bodies trembling with violent seizures. Seconds later, they rose again with blood-shot eyes and foaming mouths. The chemical had infected them with a lab-created virus. They were savage beasts with one purpose: spread the infection.
The afflicted turned on those lucky enough to survive the terrorist attack. They leapt onto passersby, tearing into their flesh, blood mixing with blood, infecting whomever they could get their hands on. No one was safe, not even the leaders of our world.
Within weeks, governments collapsed and cities fell. The worldwide devastation continued; the infection ravaging our planet. After six months, contact with the rest of the world was lost. The United States and Canada rounded up what resources they had left. They combined military forces and created quarantine zones throughout the two countries. Infected were amassed in these zones and isolated for future experimentation, or destroyed on site.
Shortly thereafter, a team of doctors and scientists were assembled in an underground facility just outside the city limits of Denver, Colorado. Headed by Dr. Henrick Kennedy, the team worked ‘round the clock in an attempt to save the world.
Nearly two years, and sixty-three patients later, they had done just that.
***
Patient 63 sat at the edge of her bed. Her emaciated frame hunched over, boney fingers gripping the bed sheets, toes barely touching the linoleum floor. Her long, brown hair hung around her face and her head hung low, chin to chest, as she watched her feet sway back and forth.
The familiar chirp of the control panel outside her room sounded and the door opened inward, Dr. Kennedy and Major Burton entered, followed by two nurses.
“Good morning, Patient 63.” Dr. Kennedy said with a warm smile.
She looked up at him and his smile wavered. Even after two months, her eyes still unsettled him.
The green of Patient 63’s irises was intensified by the blood-red color of the sclera. The woman would have once been considered beautiful and serene, but now, even after being Reawakened, the whites of her eyes remained blood-shot, reminding those who saw her of what she once was.
One of the nurses prepared a machine nearby while the other nurse took her hand. The nurse tilted her head toward the small, barred window in the room. Patient 63 got up and shuffled to her chair beside the window, sitting down and flopping her arm onto the armrest, palm up.
“We don’t even need to give her instructions anymore,” Dr. Kennedy remarked to Major Burton in a hushed tone. “I told you, we’re making remarkable progress with the subject.”
Major Burton responded with an eye roll. “Remarkable indeed.”
The men watched as one of the nurses inserted a needle into Patient 63’s arm and the long tube connected to it soon filled with the deep vermilion of her blood.
“This is only the third collection, Major, with this batch we’ll be able to administer the vaccination to a hundred more applicants.” The doctor smiled proudly, placing his hands on his hips. “That’s nearly three hundred in under ninety days!”
The Major winced at the volume of Dr. Kennedy’s voice. “Yes, that’s extraordinary, doctor. And your further experimentations? How are those going?” He turned to the doctor, his voice stern. “We need to speed up the process.”
Dr. Kennedy shook his head. “Patients sixty-four and sixty-five did not produce the desired results. Same as the sixty-two before her.” He motioned to Patient 63. “She’s extremely special.”
“Well she can’t be the only one out of the thousands you have at your disposal.” He leaned in closer to Dr. Kennedy. “When I say we need to speed up the process. I mean it. I want the rest of these things exterminated once and for all. I don’t even like being in the same room as one.” He shot a nasty look in Patient 63’s direction. “The fact that we’re feeding it and coddling it like some child makes me ill.”
Dr. Kennedy scowled at the Major and he waved his hands in the other man’s face, “Don’t push me, Major Burton. I’ve proven myself, and I’m your only shot!”
Burton sighed, “I’ve got people breathing down my neck looking f
or answers, Kennedy. So don’t think for a second that I’ll stop breathing down yours anytime soon. One is not enough. The number of applicants is increasing each day, doctor.” He turned to the nurses and made sure not to make eye contact with Patient 63. “Ladies.” He nodded his head and waited at the door. It chirped and he flung the door open, storming from the room.
Dr. Kennedy’s face softened a bit and he walked over to his patient, watching her as she stared out the false window. The machine to his right hummed as it pumped blood from Patient 63. “Looks like another sunny day today!” He chuckled. The facility was four stories underground, but each room of the facility had been outfitted long ago with windows to an outside world that didn’t exist. It was a sense of normalcy that everyone craved, that they deserved.
Patient 63 ignored him and continued to stare out into the nothingness.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it then.” Dr. Kennedy walked toward the door, stopping for a moment. “I’ll be back at the end of today’s session with some lunch, and perhaps I’ll have a new book for you to read!” He clapped his hands together, his voice full of enthusiasm.
Patient 63 continued to ignore him.
While she had no memories of her life, before or during infection, she hated being treated as if she were a child. All her implicit and procedural memory remained intact. She was a fully grown woman with no identity, and she was treated like she had been born two months ago, when she opened her eyes on that hospital bed for the first time since the change.
Patient 63 understood that the world had ended, she understood why and how and everything that came with it. She knew she’d never leave that room she sat in at that moment. She was confined, forever a prisoner, and there was nothing anyone could do about it, because no one knew she was there.
Dr. Kennedy had made it perfectly clear to her in the first days of her Reawakening that she could never leave, no one could ever know she was there. For all intents and purposes, Patient 63 didn’t exist. Dr. Kennedy also made it perfectly clear how important she was. She was the only living being that had been cured of the infection since the onset of the disease. She was special. If the rest of the world were to discover that she was there, that would be the end for Patient 63.
“There’s no telling what they’d do to you if they knew how special you were. This is for your protection.” Dr. Kennedy had told her.
All Dr. Kennedy was trying to do was save the world, even if it came at the expense of one patient’s freedom and basic human rights.
Patient 63 knew that she was the key to the vaccination against further spread of infection. Her blood was the only substance on the planet that didn’t reject Dr. Kennedy’s serum. Her blood bonded with it. The cells evolved in such a way that they bonded with the virus altogether. Patient 63 was the key not only to rebuilding the world, but making sure something like this never happened again.
But it didn’t make her feel any better about being caged up like a lab monkey.
She was human again, after all.
***
Graham Parker looked on at the two men bickering through the glass pane of the patient’s room. They were in his way and he was unable to see her. For the last two months she was all he thought about. He would sit outside her door and watch as she slept, ate, read books, and stared longingly out that façade they called a window. From the moment Graham saw Patient 63, he’d become infatuated.
Major Burton suddenly turned from the doctor and approached the door, startling Graham. He jumped back and grabbed his push-broom, tending to the already clean floors of the hall. The door chirped and the major stomped into the hallway, flying past Graham and disappearing around the corner.
Graham rushed back to the door and his heart skipped a beat as his eyes fell upon Patient 63 at last. Her long caramel locks fell gracefully around her face, delicately brushing past her shoulders. Her full lips formed a perpetual pout and her big, round eyes sent shivers down his spine. They were the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.
Distracted by the object of his affection, he hadn’t noticed Dr. Kennedy come to the door until he heard the chirp of the computerized lock. He looked up and saw the doctor’s scowling face through the pane.
Flustered, Graham scurried away from the door and didn’t have the chance to feign sweeping again. He just stood there, back against the wall, and awaited the third degree from the doctor.
Dr. Kennedy waited for the door to slam closed behind him. “How many times do I have to tell you to keep away from this room?”
Graham didn’t answer, his face flushing a bright pink. He wouldn’t look the doctor in the face, and instead stared down at his feet.
“This is the last damn time, Parker. You hear me? You come down here, you clean, and then you leave. None of this dillydallying, infringing upon my patient’s privacy. One more time, Parker, and you’ll be denied access to this area altogether.” The doctor rushed off and stopped for a moment as he turned the corner. “Go scrub a toilet or something, will ya? We don’t pay you to stand there and look stupid.” And with that, the doctor was gone.
Graham had held his breath the entire time the doctor scolded him. He exhaled in a whoosh and slumped his shoulders. The door across from him chirped again and the two nurses exited Patient 63’s room. They snickered to themselves and turned their noses up in the air as they passed Graham.
Even in the apocalypse, he felt like a loser. But not when he was watching her.
Graham spent the rest of the morning with his eyes on Patient 63. He wished he could talk to her. He imagined brushing his fingers across her pale skin, holding her in his arms and kissing her passionately. He lowered his head in sadness as he realized his daydreams would never be reality.
Weeks passed, and every morning was exactly the same, until one morning, something very different happened.
***
Patient 63 sat staring at her breakfast. A pair of poached eggs sat on the plastic plate accompanied by overcooked potatoes. She wasn’t allowed to eat salt, and so Patient 63 assumed the breakfast tasted similar to a brown paper bag. It was an off week, no blood would be taken from her, so the social interaction with the medical staff was kept to a minimum. As much as she was repulsed by Dr. Kennedy’s presence, at least his incessant rambling helped pass the time. The nurses refused to speak to her, she found their fake smiles insulting and knew good and well that they were terrified of her.
The blonde nurse went through the motions of checking her vitals while the chubby one made the bed. The chubby nurse leaned forward, tucking the edge of the light blanket into a corner. As she pulled back, her ID card snagged on the fabric and fell silently to the soft surface. Patient 63 noticed this and opened her mouth to alert the chubby woman, but decided against it with a smirk. The nurse would get quite the verbal assault from Dr. Kennedy, and this amused Patient 63. She scooped up a bit of the potatoes and feigned choking, gripping the arm of her oversized chair. In a flash, the chubby nurse abandoned her bed-making and rushed to her side.
Patient 63 waved an arm at them once she was satisfied that neither nurse noticed the ID on the bed. She took a deep breath and nodded, showing them she was just fine.
The nurses looked at one another and nodded, the blonde smiled that cheap, fake smile at Patient 63 and turned to the door, pulling her badge from her side and holding it up.
The door unlocked and the nurses disappeared. Patient 63 swore she heard laughter in the hall and rolled her eyes, thankful that the two were finally gone. She snatched up the ID card from the bedspread and gripped it tightly in her greedy fingers.
Sudden movement caught her eye through the pane in the door and she made haste shoving the ID into the pocket of her gray sweatpants. She looked up, expecting to see Dr. Kennedy making an unscheduled appearance but was startled by the face of a young man.
Fear nipped at her nerves and she scrambled back into the wall. The man at the glass, equally unsettled by the meeting of their eyes disappeared from view. Pa
tient 63's heart pounded in her chest. She'd never seen this person before, and with very good cause to believe so, thought that perhaps Major Burton had sent someone to... dispose of her. She'd heard him toss the phrase around so carelessly before, threatening Dr. Kennedy that if he didn't start producing swifter and more large scale results with the vaccine, the whole project would be terminated.
The stranger poked his head back into view and Patient 63 squealed, reaching for the 'call' remote on the other side of the bed.
***
"No, no, no! I'm so sorry!" Graham hollered through the glass. The underarms of his uniform were saturated as his nerves got the better of him. Patient 63 froze and locked eyes with him, her right hand on the remote, her finger resting mere millimeters from the button that would get him transferred from this sector, or worse, fired.
"I… I didn't mean to scare you." He stuttered.
Patient 63 cocked her head and narrowed her eyes.
"My name's Graham." A nervous smile played upon his lips, he brought a quivering hand up and waved at her.
Patient 63 lowered the remote and backed off the bed. Lowering her feet to the floor, her curiosity got the best of her and she crept toward the door.
Graham.
She mimicked his gesture, bringing her hand up and waving back. His awkward smile widened and she liked how his eyes suddenly shined. Nobody had ever looked at her like that. For the first time in her new life, Patient 63 smiled.
When was the last time I smiled?
She desperately searched her brain for some semblance of a memory, anything of her past life. But as usual, there was nothing there. She was cursed with a clean slate. Being unable to remember the unspeakable things she did as one of the infected went hand in hand with her inability to remember any of the good that surely must have occurred beforehand.