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A few minutes passed before footsteps sounded outside the room. Two sets. I pictured a scenario where the father would apologize profusely for his son’s cautious approach to strangers and we’d talk man to man and sort everything out.

It came to a crashing halt as the door opened and someone—or maybe something was a better word for it—erupted through it. He came straight for us, snarling and snapping, saliva dripping in long strands from his chin. August and I scrambled backwards, our escape coming to a premature end when our chains pulled taut.

The biter also jerked to a stop, the reason not becoming clear until I registered the wire around his neck. Our new ‘friend’ had him at the end of a dog catcher pole. Had he waited any longer before hauling him back, the biter would have been on us. As it was, he was less than a foot away, straining to get closer, jaws snapping open and closed like he could already taste us.

“You’ll have to excuse Dad,” the man said cheerily from behind the drooling biter. “He likes strangers, but he can be a bit overeager.”

August looked like I felt, my heart thudding in my chest and the sudden rush of adrenaline making nausea pool in my gut. There was never a good way to meet a biter, but this certainly wasn’t it. If his hand slipped even an inch on the pole, we would be finished. And who was to say how far this lunatic—because, given what had just happened, he was one—would take it.

“It’s lovely to meet him,” August said in an admirably calm voice for the situation. That, and it had to be the biggest lie he’d ever told. It was not lovely to meet him. It would never be lovely to meet him. That possibility had expired on the day he’d turned. And from the looks of him, it had been quite some time ago. “But perhaps he could step back a bit. He’s a little close.”

The man took a step back, dragging his reluctant father with him. “He’s eaten today. I don’t want you thinking I starve him. You should see him on a day when he hasn’t eaten.”

The biter kept straining at the leash, determined to get to us, forcing his son to dig his heels in and pull with all his might to stop it from happening. “Not yet, Dad. I have plans for them.”

There was nothing in that sentence that wasn’t ominous. The ‘not yet’ insinuating that eventually he would feed us to his father, and the ‘plans’ part sending a chill down my spine as my imagination went into overdrive about what those plans might comprise.

He had no more to say after that, all his energy required to manhandle his father back out of the room. The door clicking shut carried with it a measure of relief this time, August and I both staring at it for a good while before sinking to the floor.

“Fuck!” August said in a perfect facsimile of what my brain was screaming. “He’s not just crazy. He’s batshit crazy.”

I took a deep breath and let it out, willing my racing heart to slow before I was sick. “Let’s agree that we don’t ask to meet any more of his family.”

A laugh erupted from August. “Yeah, one’s enough.”

He left us alone for some time after that, August and I filling it by searching for a weakness in either the chain, the manacle, or the ring on the wall. Unfortunately, we found no weaknesses in any of them. The only way we were getting out of here was if he unlocked us, which wasn’t good news.

The next time the door opened, he was alone. He stood in the doorway beaming as if we were old friends. In one hand, he had a clipboard, and in the other, a pen. “Question time,” he announced in that cheery tone that was already beginning to grate on me. “For the records.”

“What records?” August asked, his voice carefully modulated. “Maybe we should go back to the beginning. We don’t even know your name.”

The man’s jaw dropped. “Oh, my God! I’ve been so rude. Please forgive me.” He used the pen to point at himself. “Osvaldo Conway at your service. Osvaldo is quite a mouthful, though, right? So you can just call me Oz. With a Z, even though my name is spelled with an S. Is that weird?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I don’t suppose it matters if it is. It’s my name. I get to choose.” He pulled the clipboard in front of him. “Anyhoo… questions.”

“What records?” August repeated.

“The lab records, of course.” He rolled his eyes as if we should have already known that. I guess the lab coat should have been a clue.

August nodded. “So… this is a lab. What do you do here?”

“Dad and I are going to reverse the effects of the virus. A cure. He started the work years ago, and I used to help him. But then he got bitten. Now, it’s the other way around. He helps me.”

“So you test things on him?” I asked.

Oz shot me a filthy look. “No! I have other test subjects. I’m not going to risk my dad’s health until I know it will work.”

“Of course not,” August said smoothly. “We’re not scientific people. We don’t really know how these things work.”

“Science is wonderful!” Oz’s expression turned dreamy. “Did you know RRV13 replicates faster in the body than any other virus in history?”

“No,” both August and I replied.

“It’s a beautiful virus! Have you ever seen it under a microscope?”

August said “no” again while I shook my head.

Oz laughed. “Sometimes I feel guilty for being its adversary.” He frowned. “But Dad always reminds me that having a cure doesn’t mean I have to use it. I could cure him and then destroy it. Is that selfish?”

I let August take that one. “Of course not,” he assured him. “If you’ve created something, then it’s your god given right to decide what happens with it.”