I relax my head into the table and close my eyes, breathing in and out, trying to steady my pulse and ease some of the discomfort in my chest, while also trying to forget about my surroundings for just a minute, but the door flies open and the men return. One of them removes his mask, revealing his face, a face full of scars along with dips and grooves covering his puckered skin. One eye is missing, the skin around it sewn shut. His other eye is as blue as the sky, and he’s staring at me with question. “There are some markers in your bloodstream that appear concerning but it doesn’t appear to be contagious.”
“Concerning?” I say, trying to press up on my elbows, feeling the need to move even more so now than a minute ago.
“Have you ingested any drugs in the past week?” he asks.
“No, but I was told there was something in the food we were eating in Chipley, something to alter the chemical balance in our brains. I don’t quite understand why, but—“
“What?” the man says. “Do you have any further information on this drug?”
“No,” I choke out. “This is all hearsay,” by the man I’m not sure—I’m pretty sure I can’t trust.
“Have you noticed any weird side effects or symptoms after you ate that food?” he asks. “I knew there was some weird shit going on in that place.”
I shake my head because other than the minor hallucinations I had from starvation, there was nothing else—I don’t think. The other men all take off their gas masks and let them hang by their sides. Each of them looks as if they’ve been in a horrible fight—the losing end of one. “Where am I?”
“Coldhall, Oklahoma,” the tallest of the five men says. He has the least amount of scars and the largest body form. “You truly don’t know what happened on May fifteenth, twenty-twelve? Maybe you’ve got some amnesia. Everyone knows what happened on that day.”
Why do I get the feeling I don’t want to know what happened on that date? “Look, I honestly don’t know. We weren’t told anything in Chipley.”
“That figures,” the taller man says. “Ms. Daniels, the United States was attacked with bioterrorism, which swept across the nation, causing a widespread epidemic.” I hear his words, but they aren’t forming properly in my head. My little world that I have been able to somewhat understand has just entered into a state of utter confusion. Epidemics don’t happen without someone hearing about it, but I was locked up in confinement. Obviously, I wouldn’t have heard about. But Sin, he should have known about it. He must have known and didn’t tell me. Reason number eight hundred why I should have never trusted that man. My head is shaking from side to side, but I’m not in control of the movements. I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience, trying my hardest to comprehend what I’m being told.
“Is everyone dead?” The fact that I was able to get those words out is a surprise. What kind of question is that? Of course not everyone is dead—there are at least three hundred psychotic prisoners alive in Chipley. What about Mom, though? Was that true? Is she…?
“Not everyone, but seventy percent of the United States population was wiped out within forty-eight hours.” This isn’t real. I want to wake up and find out that I’ve been in this crazy long nightmare that has lasted way too many years. No one is dead. I’m imagining all of this. I’m still starving. I didn’t eat that sandwich that was in my imagination too.
“I want you to let me go.” Where am I going to go now? Back to Chipley? To Sin? I have no home. “Can I call my mother?” They share a look again, but I can see it this time. They feel sorry for me. They aren’t angry or hostile; there is only sympathy in their eyes.
“Who is your mother? Her full name and date of birth,” the man with missing eye asks.
“Laura Daniels, August second, nineteen-seventy-six.” The man pulls out a small device from his back pocket. It’s larger than a cell phone and like a computer but with a screen the size of a wallet. He presses his fingers into the screen and then holds it up in front of his face. He lifts his hand and scratches at his eyebrow. With a soft sniffle, he places the device back into his pocket. “She’s unaccounted for, which means she’s likely—“
“Okay,” I say, cutting him off mid-sentence. I don’t need to hear it again, and the pain couldn’t possibly feel any worse, so what’s the purpose of once again being reminded that I am utterly alone in this apocalyptic world that didn’t quite end, but sort of did.
“You’re not contagious so if you would like to leave, you may, but I want to warn you, it’s not safe anywhere outside of this perimeter, even inside of this institution. There are sick patients here who are not getting well, but not dying either. They’re a danger to themselves and to us. We can either help you find shelter, or we can bring you back to wherever you came from. The choice is yours.”
I look at each one of them, gauging the subtle emotions lining each of their faces. They all look as lost as I feel. I can tell they’re putting on a front to appear strong and superior, but it isn’t for my sake.
“How will I know if someone around me is sick with—“
“Juliet Toxin,” the tall man adds in. “The problem is they don’t look any different than we do. Although some look restless—bags under their eyes, permanent scowls—most of them are trying to hide the truth so they aren’t brought here and locked up. It is a big mind game, Ms. Daniels—a scary one. Some of these people believe they are living in a nightmare, fighting off whatever demons are haunting them, but in reality, those demons are us. Just like you should never wake someone out of a nightmare, the same rule applies for those living within day terrors. It doesn’t end well.”
Maybe that’s why no one will wake me up from this nightmare I’m living in.
