Rage: A Story of Survival

by Greene, Dane

  Aaron’s suggestion makes me realize that we’ll need food and other supplies to stay safe for any amount of time. For once, I’m thankful that my mother forced us to count supplies almost every day. Because she did, packing away all our clothes, food, and medical supplies takes mere minutes. From now on, I’ll always keep a close eye on supplies.

  After we pack, we leave the house and follow Aaron through town to a large abandoned building. Several times, Alexis stifles my mother’s cries. The city burns and Palemen walk all around. The only reason my parents make it through is their cowardice. Their willingness to follow when scared amazes me. When we make it to our destination, I get a good look at the building we’re going to stay in.

  From the look of things, it has two floors. The first floor consists of a glass-walled shop, empty of anything. Inside the store, I see a set of stairs but notice that they aren’t long enough to reach the second floor. The stairs must lead to some kind of storage space.

  From what I can tell, the second floor is an apartment. The only way up to the second floor is through a doorway to the side of the storefront. Something tells me the second floor is where we’ll be staying.

  We open the door, and sure enough, wooden stairs lead to an upstairs apartment. The space is large enough that I know we’ll be comfortable with one or two families. It isn’t long before Aaron’s friend Jason approaches me. He explains the plans to break apart the stairs. That way, the only way to reach the second floor is by using a ladder. The plan seems like a good one since the apartment is so high up. You’d have to be a skilled and agile climber to make it up here without a ladder or stairs.

  After hearing about the plan, I’m anxious to help. It feels good to focus my mind on something other than what’s going on. It takes several days to destroy the stairs. While I work, idle talk catches me up on everything that’s happened.

  Every day that passes confirms that my choice was the right one. The chaos I see outside through the upstairs windows tells me that if we had stayed in our home, we would have died.

  My mother and father carve out a place to hide in the apartment, and I haven’t spoken to them since we arrived. They’re still angry with me, I imagine, but I don’t care. Even if they hate me, so be it. They’re alive, and so am I. Even better, I’m finally free of their constrictive grasp and free to make my own choices.

  Chapter 5: Sophia

  March 13th

  My eyes open, and all I see is white. As I survey my surroundings, I realize I’m strapped to a hospital bed. Trying to remember how I got here, I find that I don’t remember anything. I have no memories of who I am or where I am. Other than basic skills like math and English, I don’t remember anything. The straps of the hospital bed panic me. Scared, I question what’s going on. My arms strain as I try to pull free of my confinement.

  As I kick and struggle, I hear a loud snap. When I look down, I see my arm bent in a way that isn’t natural. My arm rages with pain, and I start to scream. My body becomes still as I try to move as little as possible. Each movement sends fresh waves of pain through me. My vision starts to fade. At first, I fight it, but it overtakes me.

  When my eyes open again, I find myself in the same room. My first reaction is to look down to my arm, knowing it’s broken. When I look down, I find myself strapped to the same bed. There’s a cast on my arm now and an I.V. line on my finger. When I see movement out of the corner of my eye, I focus on it. A man stands above me, holding what looks like a recording device.

  “Patient S is hooked into a morphine pump. She is the first of the infected to show signs of pain or any reaction to her environment. She, unlike our other subjects, has a regular heartbeat and organ function. Whatever suppresses the other subjects’ metabolisms hasn’t affected her. The subject seems to be unique in her immune response to the disease. There are some physical signs present, as well as the melanin deficiency common to her illness.”

  My mouth opens as I gasp for air, and I try to speak to the man. When I try to say something, all that comes out is air. A cold sensation runs up my arm, and I realize that it’s morphine coming through the I.V. in my finger.

  My consciousness starts fading, and I fall asleep. My dreams are dark and full of anger. In them, I find myself killing others, ripping them apart. Anger courses through me. Hate and fury blur my senses. My dreamworld is as red and warm as blood.

  There are others here with me. We move together with a common purpose. They feel the same things as me; nothing drives us but our anger and need to survive. When my eyes open again, I find myself still full of rage. Sweat beads off every inch of my body, and I have to force myself to calm down. The memory of my recently broken arm helps calm me. If I struggle, I know I’ll only break something else.

  After I’ve calmed myself, I glance around the room. The lights are off, so it’s hard to see. My room is devoid of any windows or clocks, so I have no way of telling what time it is. My only sign of the time is the lights. Something flashes, and I’m blinded for several seconds. As my eyes adjust to the bright lights coming on in the room, a man stands above me. Once again, he holds a recording device.

  “The specimens have shown some ability to form basic coordinated groups. We are still unsure of how this communication occurs. It might be some pheromone or chemical released by them. On that note, tonight, a unique reaction occurred. Patient Sophia started to scream in her sleep. This isn’t all that uncommon, and it has been observed in several of the other patients as well. After Sophia started screaming, the other patients frenzied. Every single one of them struggled to break free, as if to answer her call.”

  My ears strain as I try to hear every word. To my dismay, the cold sensation of morphine puts me back to sleep. Even though I fight the drug’s influences, I soon find myself in the land of dreams again. This time, my dreams are no longer filled with rage and death.

  There’s only drifting and floating in nothingness. There’s no telling how long I’m asleep. It could be minutes, days, years, or lifetimes. Inside of the rift, I find peace and calm. Accepting what’s happening to me, I decide I never want to leave this state.

  My wishes don’t matter, though, and I find myself pulled back to consciousness. The sensation of waking up feels like falling, and I gasp as my eyes open. Now awake, I realize I’m in the hospital room.

  When I look around, I see the room is full of men in lab coats. One of the last times I was awake, I remember one of them saying that I showed unique resistance to symptoms. If I had to bet, I would say they are here to examine me more closely. This time, I’m determined to communicate with them. One of the men comes forward.

  “Sophia, do you know where you are?” His hands prod my eyes roughly as he flashes a bright light into them. Tears build, and I try to blink them away. When I try to tell him to stop, I discover I’m unable to talk.

  “She is like the others. She might show some improvement, but there is no chance she overcame the disease. I’m sorry, Charles, but you were wrong about her.” The man lets go of my eyelids and walks out of the room. Every other person leaves the room except for one man. He comes over to me, and I recognize him as the same person I saw the last two times I woke up. Something tells me that he’s Charles.

  “I’m sorry this has happened to you,” he says. “For a second, I believed that you were different. I guess I was wrong, though.” As the man says this, he looks at me. Looking him in the eyes, I nod my head no. The man looks astonished and speaks again. “Sophia, do you understand me?”

  I nod my head yes.

  “My God!”

  The man turns around and runs out of the room, screaming for the others to come back. While he gathers them, I try to speak, only accomplishing grunts, but after a few tries, my mouth starts obeying my commands. A few half-formed words slip out. My mouth and throat are so dry that even the few words I manage feel like sandpaper. Several men start coming into the room, and most of them look annoyed. Wanting to wait until they are all here, I remain sile
nt. Charles is the last man into the room, and after he closes the door behind him, I mutter, “Water. Please, water.”

  The energy of the room shifts. Before, there was an air of tedious annoyance. Now, when I look around, I see disbelief—and even fear. Charles is the first to react. “Yes, right away. We can get you some water.”

  The man calls for some water, and it arrives only minutes later. Charles helps me drink it, lowering the glass to my lips. The drink moistens my mouth and throat, and I’m reinvigorated. After a few sips, Charles looks at me with curiosity and asks, “Sophia, do you know where you are?”

  The water has made me feel much better, and without thinking, I say, “No, I don’t know where I am, who I am, or where I’m from. All I remember is this room. And you.” There’s a silence, and I look around the room. I realize that all the men here are doctors or other lab technicians. Most of them appear very uncomfortable. No one makes a move for a few seconds. They must be too shocked to speak.

  Once again, Charles is the one to break the silence. “Well, you’re Sophia, and you’re in a private hospital because you have been infected with a rare disease. So far, you’re the only patient we’ve had that has shown any recovery. To be honest, we have no idea why. All our research so far indicates that you should not have recovered.”

  As I stare at the silent room, I question why they all seem startled and scared. These men are doctors; I’m sure they’ve seen surprising results before. Their reaction to my recovery seems way over the top. Something in my gut tells me that whatever I was infected with is incurable. If that were the case, my miraculous recovery would be beyond their understanding. Foolish doctors. Do they not remember that many diseases were once thought untreatable?

  Shifting in my bed, I feel the restraints tightly constricting me. “Can you let me out of this bed?” I ask. “Or at least loosen these straps? I think I have a few bed sores, and the straps are chaffing me.”

  Charles looks at me with a mix of sincerity and regret. “Well, Sophia, like I said earlier, you were infected with a very serious disease. The disease makes people very violent. I’m sorry, but for your safety, and our own, I have to keep you restrained.”

  Disappointment threatens to overwhelm me. Refusing to let it, I remind myself I would do the same in his place. Pushing my disappointment aside, I decide to ask a few more questions. “What has infected me, and how did I get it?”

  “You were infected through bacterial exposure induced by four puncture wounds sustained to the upper right quadrant of your torso. The bacteria converged on the brain stem, resulting in the total loss of motor and autonomic functions. We aren’t sure why you were able to fight the infection. Every other case of this disease has led to a conscious catatonic state.”

  Charles’s explanation is thorough, at least in medical terms. The answer is probably all I’ll receive, so I put further questions about the infection aside for now. The only question I have is how I was able to understand what the doctor said. Before I can ask my captors, someone speaks from behind Charles.

  “For God’s sake, Charles, she might have been a med student before, but she has amnesia. Try to explain it in simpler terms.”

  The man’s comment isn’t necessary, but it answers my silent question. Even though I’m suffering from amnesia, I remember my medical training. Before I have the chance to explain this to them, Charles speaks.

  “Right, I’m sorry. You were bitten in the side and infected with bacteria. Those bacteria took over the functions in your brain. We have no idea why you were able to take them back.”

  Charles’s new explanation upsets me a little, and I’m flustered as I say, “Thank you, Doctor, but I understood you the first time. Apparently, I remember my training but not my name. It almost goes without saying, but I’m presuming the bacteria are immune to antibiotics.”

  As I say this, I see Charles’s face express a look of embarrassment. He nods, and I continue. “Since I’ve never heard of a bacterium that does this, I’m guessing that it’s a new variety—or that it’s a weaponized strain. Considering I’m in an underground hospital, chances of the second option being true are much greater. Can you please tell me what the hell happened?”

  Charles looks at me in shock. “Well, you’re right. The bacterium is a weaponized strain. We received the strain from a government agent. It was recovered from an enemy country. Intelligence told us that what was recovered was everything. In case we were wrong, we were ordered to make preparations to combat it. Unfortunately, there was an accident with the sample. About a hundred people were infected and quarantined because of the incident. We learned that the disease was not transmittable through the air. What we also discovered is that the bacterium forms a parasitic bond with the brain stem.” Someone taps Charles on the shoulder and hands him a paper. He looks at me, astonished.

  “Sorry to change the topic,” he continues, “but I was handed a report from your last brain scan. Your brain regenerated the majority of the damage done by the infection. That alone is astonishing, but because you fought off the disease, you now have antibodies built up against it. There is a good chance you would survive the event of reinfection. Do you know what that means? You could be the key to our cure.”

  Men all around start moving. They all shuffle out of the room in a hurry.

  As I stare at the now-empty room, I’m confused about what’s going on. Even with those results, the man shouldn’t have acted like that. Something doesn’t add up, and I’m sure they’re withholding information. A few anxious minutes pass before Charles bursts through the doorway and comes over to my bed.

  “I’m sorry. What I told you wasn’t completely true. Intelligence knows there’s more of the weaponized bacterium. They are confident that it could be used on us any day now. We have received orders to operate on you immediately. We need to extract some brain tissue to create an inoculation. I realize that this might be scary, but think of the lives it could save. You won’t be harmed, I swear. We have one of the best brain surgeons in the world here.”

  “Wait a second. Don’t I get a say in all this?”

  Charles looks at me, and I see a tear in the corner of his eye. “The orders are to extract the tissue immediately. The state you’re in after infection has been proclaimed legally dead. You don’t have the rights to say no because you’re no longer a living member of the United States of America.”

  Shock and disgust move through me. As I look at Charles, he mouths that he is sorry.

  I nod in anger, but I force myself to calm down. Screw the government; I would have consented to surgery, no matter how risky. With an inoculation, far fewer people will die from the disease. Who could live with themselves if they put their life over countless others?

  “It’s fine, Charles. I want you to do the surgery.” Charles smiles as he looks at me. He must have known me before I was infected. As I’m thinking this, Charles pulls out a syringe. He fills it and pumps it into my I.V. My vision starts to fade, but not before I see and feel Charles move his head down to kiss my forehead.

  “I promise I’ll explain everything after the surgery, sweetheart.” Shock moves through me as my world turns black. For a second, I think I’ve passed out, until I hear Charles say, “What the hell? Where’s the auxiliary power? Why are there no lights?”

  By the time Charles finishes speaking, I’m fighting to keep my eyes open. My consciousness fades as I lose the pointless battle.

  When my eyes open, the first thing I notice is that my restraints are gone. The second thing I notice is the all-encompassing dark and silence. There are no monitors, no lights, nothing. When I look around, I see nothing, but somehow, I sense that I’m still in the same room as before. As I sit up, something pulls at my finger. Remembering the I.V. line, I pull it out.

  “No need for that anymore,” I say as I swing my body around and stand on the floor. The linoleum is cold against my feet, but I’m glad to be standing again. Trying to think about what I should do, I decide to t
ry looking around outside my room. The first steps are scary, but after a minute, I find myself walking through the hallways of the complex with ease. Each footstep I take echoes off the walls, and I realize after a while that I’m using them to situate myself in the dark. That, combined with some uncanny knowledge of the building’s layout, guides me to my unknown destination. I only stop when I find myself in front of a door.

  Feeling around the wall, I find a plaque with an engraved name: “Charles Emeret.” It’s then that I realize why I came here. Judging by the way he acted, I guess that Charles was my boyfriend, husband, or father. Intuition tells me that it’s the latter. My hand moves to the knob, and I turn it to try and open the door. The door is wedged closed, and I strain to move it. Something gives, and I manage to slide the door and the desk behind it enough to get through. Before I can do much else, I hear a familiar voice say, “Come to finish me off, have you? Very well. Get to it. I don’t ever want to be like you.”

  Doing my best to point my head toward the source of the noise, I say, “Charles? It’s me, Sophia. What happened?”

  “Honey, is that you? I’m so glad you’re alright. You went to sleep right before the EMP blast. Whoever had the weaponized bacteria must be behind the EMP. I’m afraid for the world. I wish I could explain everything to you, but I can’t. Someone infected me, and I’ve injected myself with a lethal dose of potassium chloride. Before I die, take this.”

  As Charles says this, he lifts his hand, which is holding something. Going to him, I take what feels like a three-ring binder.

  “Honey, your mother and I loved you, and I’m sorry that you had to go through what you did. I know you can’t remember me, but I hope somewhere deep down you still love me after you learn the truth.” Charles’s words slur near the end, and I can tell that the injection is working. The realization that this man is my father is shocking, but without any memories of him, it’s hard to feel anything. Still, no one deserves to die alone, so I do my best to hold him in his last moments.