Short story I did for my Creative Writing class. :3

The Infected

“The biggest disease today is not leprosy or tuberculosis, but rather the feeling of being unwanted.” – Mother Teresa

“Where were you last night?”

“Last night,” Maeve tested the words on her tongue. They were strange, simply because last night was hundreds of years ago. Last night was a lifetime, the birth and death of man all over again, every war, ever mistake, every moment of eureka. She didn’t know if she could recall it, recall the strange peace and the lack of fear, not perfectly at least. Where had she been last night? Where had she been not but six hours ago, was it six hours? God, where the hell had she been?

Maverick stared at her quietly across the dark cellar room, the cement walls cold against their backs. A full expanse of five feet separated them, a crate off to the corner, a few blankets strewn across the ground. The air in the cellar was musky and wet, but it was better than what was out of the cellar. It was better than the rotten air on the surface, better than the creatures stumbling around up there, faces slack and eyes bloodshot.

“I was at home with the hubby,” she stared slowly when she spoke, testing each word carefully, making sure they were right, making sure they were true. “We were drinking, him Jack Daniels, me Kahlua and some milk.” She closed her eyes at the words, remembered the taste of the drink, the sweet warmth on her tongue and down her throat, the way it’d settled in her stomach. She remembered his arm draped across her shoulder and the smell of alcohol on his breath, his drunken little grin. The way he’d slurred his words when he’d said ‘well the kids are gone, dollface.’ “Yeah, we were just chilling.” Maeve glanced toward Maverick and she could see him visualizing her words as well, his black eyes half-lidded and a tiny smile on his thin lips. Thick black hair fell past his shoulders and about is eyes some, a shade of gray resting within.

There was a gentle ‘thump’ on the floorboards above them, and instantly silence fell between the two. Her gaze turned upward, watched as dust fell from the ceiling of the basement when the infected on the surface fumbled across. She listened to the sound of ragged breathing, of whimpers of pain from the headaches, the stumble in the footsteps. Carefully she crawled across the dirt floor, drawing close to Maverick. She curled up against him and his arm wrapped about her tightly, hand stroking over her shoulder leisurely. He looked so relaxed, his dark eyes shadowed and his face all angles and sharp lines in the gloom. Maeve wondered if he was as scared as she was. She wished she could pull off nonchalant like this man could. She wished she didn’t care. She wished she wasn’t scared.

Maverick looked down at her when the being stumbling across the floorboards wandered away to another part of the house. He smiled down at her and kissed her brow, speaking again, his voice at a whisper this time.

“I was sitting in front of the television smoking a cigarette,” he grinned. “Camels Turkish Silvers.”

“Ooh, my manager used to smoke those. Damn, was he hot,” Maeve grinned at the memory. Erik Mitchell had been one fine example of masculinity. He had been her dream guy, ever since she started working for him at the age of seventeen. Then she’d gotten herself married at nineteen, but not to Erik. It could have never been Erik. She used to have a good excuse, when it came down between him and Tommy— why had she married Tommy in the first place?— but the excuse failed her now. Now? It didn’t matter now, not so much anyway. It was all too late. Tommy was dead, the kids were probably dead, her coworkers were most likely dead, and her manager was without a doubt dead. Twenty-eight years of life, twenty-eight years of trying to meet people’s expectations and what had it come down to?

To sitting curled up in a cellar with a man she’d met not six hours ago, listening to people infected with the virus wander about on the surface. For the longest time she could’ve sworn she had had it too. She could’ve sworn those headaches she was getting were from the virus, that weird black shit that got on the brain and turned a person strange, made the blood pump and the anger rage on. Come to find out, it was the kids. Had to have been the kids.

She rested her head on the man’s shoulder, holding herself tightly. She should’ve married her boss. She should’ve married him and had two kids with him, not with Tommy. Those kids weren’t supposed to have grown up as brats either; they were supposed to be smart and pleasant. Maeve shook her head, wondering what things Maverick regretted. Was there really any time for regret?

The person stumbled across the floorboards again, hitting the ground. Maverick curled against her this time. She wished she had that bottle of Kahlua now, better yet, the Jack Daniels. A cigarette wouldn’t hurt either. Maeve smirked weakly and closed her eyes, glad to be down here now and not up there. After Tommy had lost it at home and had started brandishing a cutting knife and yelling about his head she’d known it was time to go, time to just get the hell out before something happened to her too. She’d found herself outside, dodging other infected people, listening to screams of pain and yells of fury. She’d found herself aimless and lost. The house she’d wandered into had left the front door open and she’d wondered unsurely inside and found the cellar and Maverick, sitting in the corner and holding an unlit cigarette in his lips, gaze staring blankly forward.

She could’ve sworn he was infected at first. Those eyes had looked just like one with the virus. They’d been black and shadowed with a hint of fury resting beneath. He wasn’t though, not a chance, he was much too calm. Then the real infected had found its self inside and had been fumbling around ever since. Maeve let out a gentle huff of breath, closing her eyes weakly.

One had gotten inside. In all honesty, Maeve wasn’t really sure how. Things had been fine. There had been nothing more to life than the sound of an infected or two stumbling through the house, groaning in pain, and then something had gone wrong. One had found the double doors leading to the cellar and had clawed its way inside. Maeve and Maverick had been quick to get out of sight, certainly. The infected were smart creatures, smart enough at least, to know they were angry and to want to hurt someone for it.

Maeve shook her head at the thought as she hid behind some of the crates that had been in the corner of the cellar, her heart pounding against her ribs, painful and sharp. In the current situation, in the current circumstances, she couldn’t get her mind off the time she’d gone to watch a ceremony her sister was in, a pagan celebration of some sort. She remembered the pounding of the drums, how the pace had started slow and pleasant and then leisurely turned to something wild, something insane. She remembered the sound of her blood rushing in her ears and the way her adrenaline had hit her system like a drug. She remembered the dancing of naked bodies and the whoops and the laughter. The scent of grass and night air had filled her nose, her body had been hot and sweat had tickled down her back despite the cold night air. The fire had been massive, a glorious, living and breathing creature that was born again and again in each crackle of the wood. Shadows had danced across a moonlight bathed field, hands held, fingers laced, hair flowing, heads tilted back to bask in the glory of the season. How amazing her sister had looked and how damn happy, and Maeve had wished, just wished…

That’s what it was like now, except there was nothing beautiful here. This was far more frightening. Now there wasn’t laughter and singing. Now there was the sound of hushed breathing, of frightened heartbeats and of whimpers of pain. The air was stifling and old, curling in the mouth and lungs like smoke, burning at the insides. Maeve peeked around the crate, her eyes catching Maverick’s. He was hiding beneath the staircase, his body pressed tightly into the shadows, the way lovers curled beneath the covers.

The creature fell to its knees on the floor, panting heavily, one hand grasping its forehead while the other clawed at the dirt beneath it. Well, it wasn’t really an ‘it.’ It was once a ‘she,’ probably a young and beautiful girl with those thick blond locks and maybe bright blue eyes. She might’ve been popular, might’ve been a cheerleader or a math-whiz. Right now though, she wasn’t beautiful and she wasn’t popular. Its face was ragged and scarred up. Tracks were in its face where it had dug its nails into the flesh and ripped down in pain, in frustration, in agony. Its face was twisted, lips pulled back from its teeth like a dog would when growling, a mixture of a groan and hiss filling the air as it rolled around on the ground, its brow hitting the dirt floor, breaking the skin lightly and more blood stained the already caked hair. Crazed eyes stared out through the cellar as it grunted, clawing at the ground and its face. Its eyes were probably once blue and bright, now a black film covered them. The same black film was on the brain, red spindles digging into the crevices of the mind and sinking inside, wrapping around like a parasite.

Tommy had talked about it one night, when he’d first encountered it. ‘Marry a doctor,’ her mother had always said. ‘And you’ll be rich and never have to deal with the asshole.’ Tommy wasn’t much of a doctor. Not a surgeon or anything, more of a family doctor, the one that sat and listened to problems and prescribed random drugs that may or may not do much good. He’d had plenty of encounters of the virus though. He’d come home day after day and it was always the same problem.

‘They’re getting angrier. I don’t know what it is. The come in, their head hurts, I’ve never seen people in so much pain, and they’re furious. I had a fight today between two people, tore each other up on the floor. Took a whole squad of damn police to get them off each other. What the hell’s happening, dollface?’

She didn’t know what was happening, or she hadn’t at the time. It wasn’t until things had started getting real violent. It wasn’t until the homicides had started getting more frequent and people had started to wonder. It wasn’t until the headaches had become widespread, until the day that Tommy came home with a headache all his own. It wasn’t until he’d smacked her and told her to quit looking at him so funny, why didn’t she go and get her ass in the kitchen and try being useful for once? When things got out of hand, really got out of hand, people wondered, and doctors admitted.

The infected let out another snarl, slamming its head into the ground and clawing at the dirt. Maeve looked up sharply as Maverick took a step from beneath the staircase, drawing toward the once woman. It turned about and screamed at him, a furious, hate-filled sound. It tore through the gloom of the cellar, tore through the once clam air and the silence and wrenched right into Maeve’s chest. The infected thrashed on the ground as the headache grew and deftly Maeve wondered if Tommy had done the same. When the black film had gotten too deep into the head, had he started going mad, really mad? She wondered if the pain had been too much for Tommy and if he’d killed his self like hundreds, even thousands, had done already. Maverick took another step forward and Maeve heard herself whimper in disapproval. He glanced up at her, the creature lashing out at the very moment, grabbing his shirt and clawing at him, screaming.

“Kill you! Kill you, bastard! Stop it!” It snarled at him, spat at him, clawing at his face with fingernails that had been worn down and chewed to pieces, dirt and blood covering the hands. It did anything it could to pass the virus on.

That’s all any virus wanted after all, to pass itself on, to spread, to have a body and take sweet and absolute control of. To fill it up and to drive it mad. Maverick growled at the creature and pushed it down, holding it firmly with his knees and pushing down on the shoulder with a hand. His face was a mask of disgust, of irritation and rage. Had the virus stolen someone he loved? Had it taken away his life as it had hers? Did he actually miss his life? He murmured to the beast, voice charmingly low, the whisper of a lover. His free hand grabbed the head and before Maeve could blink he snapped it sharply to the side, the sickening crack that filled the air causing the small hairs on Maeve’s arm to rise up. He snarled like a beast, pushing the infected’s head down harder and harder until the nose touched the ground and the body no longer twitched or convulsed.

Slowly, she crept out from behind the crate, drawing close to him and the body, her heart pounding and bile in her throat. She waited patiently for the infected to lurch up, to grab her throat, dig those ugly nails into her neck and rip it out. Maeve waited for life to fill the body once more, the living virus still inside of it to animate what was now dead. It hadn’t been able to do that yet though, and for that Maeve was thankful. Maverick fell back from the girl and wiped the spittle from his face and neck, sneering.

“What should we do with the body?” she murmured.

“Get it out of hear before it starts leaking the black shit everywhere,” he frowned, eyes not leaving the body. Maeve saw it too. The black film that covered the eyes was already dripping, along with some from the ears and nose, to the ground like blood. Maeve shuddered, biting back the sickness that caused her stomach to churn. Not the best place to throw up, not the best time. Maybe later, when things had cooled down, she’d find herself a nice, cold toilette and curl up against it, nuzzle the rim and tell it her secrets.

“Can we still hide down here?”

“We could,” Maverick sighed, before looking up at her, serious. Maeve grinned, glancing toward him.

“But?”

“But if one found its way down here, what’s to say another one, less close to the S.P., won’t as well? And if it’s not on the brink of the S.P. like this one was,” he poked it with his foot, the body not lurching out, not moving, just lying there. The eyes were blue again, the black film only seeping from the corners of the eyes like tears, albeit tears that were overflowing with the virus but certainly tears nonetheless. “It’s likely to do a hell of a lot more damage.”

“Right, well,” Maeve sighed, turning her gaze toward the cellar doors. “Right.”

“So, you’re husband was a doctor?” Maverick glanced toward her politely, thoughtfully. His warm fingertips stroked idly along her neck, and her head tilted forward, hair tumbling about her shoulders and face. He brushed some of the brown locks away from her neck, curling her hair between his fingers some and tracing patterns on her skin, his brow pressed against her own, hot breath rushing against her ear. “He dealt with people a lot then, huh?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, glancing up toward him. His face was covered with shadows, there was little she could make out, the curve of his lips and the dark eyes looking lost in thought and far away. She felt far away. The safety of the cellar was seemingly years behind them, an entire century gone and her safety with it. They’d wandered in the streets uncertainly, dodging the occasional infected. There had been one older man that was just beginning to get furious, but the black film had yet to settle over his eyes. ‘Just leave me alone to rot. I’ve got all I need,’ he’d murmured, clutching a small handgun to his chest like a cross. It had shimmered gently in the morning sunlight.

It had been a beautiful morning. The air had been surprisingly fresh, a crisp scent of autumn in the air and a cool wind blowing. It had been nice to get out. Despite the fact at every turn there could’ve been a furious creature there with a knife or a wretched soul clawing desperately, just wanting someone else to hurt as much as they were, it had been a relief to be out of the cellar. Now though, it was out of the cellar and back inside. They were curled up in the attic of some abandoned home. The house itself had been covered in a thin layer of dust, it looked like the sort of place an infected might want to curl up and die in, but it hadn’t been touched yet. It was safer than being in the cellar and a hell of a lot safer than being on the streets. Maeve had been rifling through trunks, looking through old photo albums covered in dust, smelling aged and bitter, but not like the disease.

“I suppose he dealt with a lot of the patients then.”

“He knew the woman that discovered it, actually. Dr. Kezia Rosemary, stupid woman that she was,” Maeve chuckled, brushing some dust away from an 8x10 of a little girl with curly brown hair, her eyes wide and her lips curved into a suspicious little smile. “Look here, looks like she stole the cookie from the jar, huh?” Maeve smiled up at Maverick, who grinned in return, nodding his head, his hand still upon her neck.

“Did you know Dr. Rosemary?”

“I’d only met her once, before the outbreak. She was always really forgetful, twitchy. Tommy worshiped the woman though, thought she was sweeter than honey,” Maeve rolled her eyes at the words, turning the page of the photo album, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “I think it was partially her fault things got as bad as they were. She got sent the first body and didn’t realize what she had. The gloves had a hole and she gets infected because the stupid bitch didn’t wash her hands after tampering with the body.”

“You think it could’ve stopped with Jeffery Maddock?”

“Was that his name? Without a doubt it could’ve. Just be careful and get rid of the body. Not like we’re dealing with something air born here. It’s just a virus.”

Yes, it was Kezia’s fault. If she hadn’t been such a stupid wretch, if she hadn’t been so clumsy. Maeve nipped her lower lip, sighing down at a picture of the little curl curled up with her father and mother. If only Kezia hadn’t been sleeping around with Tommy maybe he wouldn’t have been infected, then the kids would have been safe and maybe they eventually could’ve turned into a picture perfect family.

“There was a debate on if it’s alive, you know.” His words caught her off guard and she looked up at him, his dark eyes intense but his smile weak. Slender brows were raised and his chapped lips twisted some. “Load of shit maybe, but funny huh? What if it’s trying to really take control, not just live off of us but really own us?”

“Shut up, Maverick, that’s creepy,” she murmured, scowling down into the photo album. The little curl was sitting in a man’s lap, her cheeks flushed and laughter on her lips, her tiny hand clutching her father’s. The man smiled lovingly down at the girl. A pipe rested in his free hand. Did the living room smell of tobacco, was that what she remembered of her father? What had happened to the family that had lived here anyway?

A living thing? Hell no. Besides, people were just suffering from headaches. It got in the head, fucked with the mind sure, it triggered anger, made people furious, raging, but it didn’t actually force them to do things. She pushed the very thought from her head, studying the pictures of the little girl. “Did you have kids? A family?”

“Hm?” Maverick stood, lightly walking toward a window and glancing outside curiously. Sunlight poured into the attic from it alone, the rest of the small area little more than dusty shadows. “There’s one fumbling around out there. Looks near the S.P. If you’re squeamish I wouldn’t look out the window again.” His grin was bitter and she sighed, leaning back against the wall and allowing her head to hit it with a light ‘thunk.’ Maverick reached up to brush ragged black hair out of his eyes. It looked like it hadn’t been cut for a while, beginning to curl at the bottom around his neck, brushing over his shoulders. He leaned against the wall some, turning his attention away from the outside and to her. His murky eyes were warm as they studied her face and she shifted uncomfortably, once more focusing on the album.

S.P. The Suicide Point, when the pain got so bad and the anger was too much that they just killed their selves. That was Jeremy— Jimmy— Jeffery’s end. He’d stabbed his girlfriend to death then stumbled his way out into traffic, screaming about pain and fuck it all to hell life just wasn’t worth it. Then Kezia had got the body, then she’d forgotten to wash her hands and then it’d gotten everywhere. Then Tommy had dealt with his patients and he’d messed around with that stupid woman and then he’d caught it and then the kids had caught it. She could’ve sworn she had it at one point too, truly could’ve. She’d had the headaches. She’d been curled up on a couch for about a week, her mind throbbing and her body weak and trembling. She could’ve sworn there’d been black film starting to form over her eyes when she looked in the mirror, she could’ve sworn that wretched stuff had been in her blood, in her body, in her head. She could’ve sworn her temper was worse.

It’d gone away though. After it had gotten too terrible to bare, after she’d truly considered finding herself a shot gun and blowing out her head before she killed one of the kids, it’d faded away. Little more than a fever it seemed. She couldn’t have had it, not if it had gone away. This virus was something like Ebola, this was something that once caught didn’t just go away. It got worse and worse until the body just gave up the go. The virus wasn’t controlling people though, damn it all.

“You had kids?” Maverick crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall.

“Yeah, two,” she chuckled. “Elizabeth and Michael.”

“Sweet kids?”

“No, spoiled as hell. Tommy didn’t want to spank them, said it was bad for development or something. I was raised on corporal punishment.” She offered Maverick a mock salute and he chuckled, walking toward her and sitting down once more, wrapping an arm about her. He pulled her against his body. It was so warm and she curled up against it, reaching forward to fiddle with the white button-up shirt he was wearing.

“I take it Tommy wasn’t your favorite man in the world.”

“I just wondered why I married him in the first place sometimes, now in days at least. I can’t quite remember what attracted me to him in the first place.”

“Mh, it happens.”

She jumped as his lips pressed near her jaw line, his fingers trailing through her hair delicately. His eyes were like black flames in the sunlight, his brow raised suggestively. Maeve felt her lips curl into an uncertain smile, her body pressing closer to his.

“Things just happen, huh?”

“Exactly,” he sat back from her suddenly, all suggestions gone, the attractive smirk on his lips vanishing as if it had never been. “That’s how it goes sweetheart, that’s how life is. Shit happens. This virus develops, something beautiful, something advanced, and God knows it has a purpose. This sort of thing doesn’t happen because one piece of bacteria looked funnily at another, or whatever. No, this bullshit happens because there was a reason. Humans getting too cocky, you know? So the virus is created to get rid of them and it’s wonderful and it’s advanced. It starts off in such a way no one’s going to expect it because it’s just that good.” Maverick stood up, pacing back and forward through the attic, his footsteps loud on the floor and she fidgeted, jumping at the sound of an agonized scream outside.

“No, this virus, this one’s good. It’s amazing, brilliant if I do say so myself,” Maverick looked down at her, crossing his arms, a finger tapping rapidly on one arm. “It’s got the human race under its thumb.”

“Viruses don’t have thumbs, now shut the hell up about it, like it’s an actual living, wanting thing,” Maeve hissed, yanking the album closer to her and glowering down at the picture of the little girl. She smiled back up at Maeve, her hand raised in a wave and her mouth open. The beach behind her crashed upon the white, sandy shore and seagulls flew in the distance. Had her mother been taking the picture? What about her father? Did she have any siblings? Maeve tugged the picture out of the album, tucking it away quietly into her pocket.

“What are you doing?”

“Just taking the picture.”

“That belongs to someone you know,” Maverick frowned, moving forward in a rush sitting down besides her again, taking the album from her. He hesitated before really looking down at the album finally, staring at the pictures, his expression bitter. “People used to live here.”

“But they don’t now, do they?”

“No, the virus got them,” his voice was cool as he reached out, touching a picture of the little girl unsurely, stroking his fingertip over it. Maeve frowned up at him, wondering what was getting under his skin. His face was full of sorrow, eyes darkened and lips tugged into a forlorn frown.

“What’s wrong, Maverick?”

He gave his head a shake and looked down at her. The album was pushed thte side and he reached out, cupping her cheek, his thumb stroking along her jaw line to her lower lip. She felt the small hairs on her arms rise and repressed a shudder, licking her lips nervously and accidentally stroking his thumb with her tongue. She watched his face flush, eyes darken only more if it were possible, his gaze intense and burning through her.

“What was your dream when you were a little girl?”

“What?”

“What was it like to be a child?” his voice was no more than a whisper in the attic and Maeve had never felt more stifled and trapped. “What did you do? What did you dream about at night? What did you wish for?”

“I-I wanted an adventure,” the words came with horrible ease. She’d never said it, never even told Tommy. Of course, Tommy would have thought it was stupid, thought she was stupid. He would’ve looked at her and wished for Kezia to be there, wished to have that skinny, beautiful tan woman sitting before him with her back arched and black hair pouring over her shoulders. He would’ve wished for something better. “I dreamt of magical worlds and of men full of mystery and daring that would love me. I dreamt of being swept up and taken away and I dreamt of creatures beyond my wildest dreams, challenges and choices and magic and everything.”

“What happened?” he was so close, his skin hot against hers, burning even. He ran his fingertips along her cheek, his cheeks reddish and black hair trailing about his face and dangling in front of his eyes. The gaze was like hot coals, licking flames along her face and down her neck, before once more catching her own in a wrenching grip that couldn’t let go. “What happened to your dream, Maeve?”

“I gave up.”

“Why? What happened, kid?”

“I got married,” she bit the words out, cool tears trailing down her cheeks and the ones that didn’t get caught by his hands dripped off her chin. “Oh God, I got married. I married Tommy and when the days just kept going and going and nothing changed, nothing ever changed and when I fucking needed that adventure more than anything nothing happened. Nothing happened. No dark knight, no magic, no love, no fucking anything!”

He wrapped his arms about her, jerking her against him and she bumped her chin against his collar, her teeth clashing together. Her sobs came out in disgusting waves of self-pity, revolting heaves of agony, pointless and wretched. What was the point anymore? Why bother any more? In the end there wasn’t anything, just a failed marriage and a night curled up in bed alone. In the end Tommy was dead and she was alive and while that should’ve made her happy, while that was karma for yah, it didn’t help.

“I used to live here,” Maverick whispered with his breath hot against her ear. “I jut woke up one day and here I was. They found me in the woods behind the house. I don’t remember childhood or dreams or hopes. I didn’t have any, not then at least. All I had was a purpose.”

“What was it?” she whispered, but he didn’t answer. He was nuzzling into her hair and she shivered in repulsion as he licked the shell of her ear.

“The family took me in and kept me here. She was the sweetest little girl, the sweetest little girl you would ever meet. She was like my little sister, you know?”

“Yes,” she murmured, trying to pull back but his embrace tightened, bruising.

“They were nice people too, not good or bad, just nice,” he hissed the words, gritting his teeth. He pulled back only slightly to gaze at her again, nipping his lower lip. “I really wanted to be apart of that family. I wanted to be apart of them; I wanted to be in those damn photos. I-I think I might have loved them. But that little girl…”

“What happened to her?”

“I-I wanted to give her everything. I promised her everything, but…”

“What happened to her?”

“I wanted her to be happy.”

“What happened to her?”

“I infected her.”

The silence was thick as Maeve pulled back as much as she could, only able to get a few inches between their bodies. She stared up at him and he stared back, looking guilty and sickeningly delighted all at once. His cheeks were still dark with a horrid passion, lips twitching occasionally into an unsure grin before returning once more to normal.

“You what?”

“I infected her.”

“You were infected?”

“I am infected,” he smirked slightly, pulling back from her only a little bit. Maeve tried to wrench from him the second she heard the words, feeling the disease on her in an instant. Perhaps it had already been there in the past few hours but she could feel it now, crawling over her skin, inside of her, the black gunk forming over her brain and taking maddening control. “I’m the infected.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I-it was an accident. I didn’t do it on purpose but I couldn’t help it. It took a while for it to form in her and her parents; it was still new to the world. I was still new to the world. It grew inside of them and it messed them up, just like it was supposed to. I didn’t want to her hurt her though. I didn’t want her to be so angry. You and I have met before, you know?” the sudden change in topic caught her off guard and she fumbled, but he continued onward, clutching her tightly, not allowing her to move far from him. “Once on the subway. You were on your way to meet your idiot husband for lunch. I infected you then, on accident. You dropped some papers, I picked them up for you, and you touched them and then rubbed your eyes a bit later. Why does everyone rub his or her eyes? What morons you all are!”

“R-rubbing eyes?”

“Yes, they’re so weak against infection. Rub your eyes and it’s there, rub your eyes and your infected.”

“I don’t understand Maverick.”

He stood up with her, holding her still, his arms wrapped about her in a vice-like grip. He looked calmer suddenly with his face not as flushed and there wasn’t a wild panic in his eyes. Maverick took a deep breath, closing his eyes then once more staring down at her, his grip gentler on her upper arms.

“Maeve, I was made for a reason, this virus was made for a reason: to teach your kind your place in this world. I couldn’t help myself though. I had a purpose and I’ve been fulfilling it, but I made dreams. I wanted things of my own. I wanted that little girl to be happy, to give her everything, to give her the wishes and dreams she wanted. I couldn’t though, because she was too weak to fight it,” Maverick sighed, leaning forward, resting his brow against her own. Maeve realized she was trembling and closed her eyes as he let out a sigh, the smell of his breath spicy.

“I—”

“I infected you though, Maeve, I know I did. You’ve told me about it, about how you felt and I know you had it. I can’t tell you how happy I was to see you alive, to see you stumble into the cellar. Because you’re so like her, so hopeful and naïve. You have the same hair and the same smile,” he chuckled. “It means you’re strong enough for it, for the virus. So I’ll give you everything instead, and haven’t I?”

“What?”

“Haven’t I given you everything, your everything? You’ve had an adventure so far, dodging homicidal infecteds, hiding away, battling it out,” Maverick tilted her chin up. “I can give you more. I can give you a clean new world, something that you can make all your own, shape it how you want. You wanted love? I can give you that. You wanted passion? I can give you that. You wanted difficult choices? I can give you that.” He turned her around suddenly, pointed her to face a trunk. His lips were by her ear as he spoke, sending spiders down her spine. “There’s a gun in that trunk, Maeve. It’s loaded. I’m going to leave this room and you can decide what happens next, kid. It’s up to you if I live and keep spreading this virus or…”

“Or?”

She felt him grinning against her ear and he leaned over, his lips pressing to her neck and her stomach twisted. His hands ran over her stomach, a slow motion that left her feeling sick and excited.

“Or you can come downstairs with me and I can give you more of what you want.”

He let her go smoothly and trembling she listened as he walked from her, the door opening and snapping shut behind him. Each step he took down the attic stairway was clear as daylight. Maeve stood patiently, listening until the sound of his footsteps faded, until she couldn’t hear him and until she couldn’t feel him. She felt her knees buckle, but kept her balance, instead staring toward the trunk. Kill him? Kill her self? If she killed him, some good that would do the world, the virus would keep on spreading.

No, not so. It’d die out eventually, people only tended to last about a week with it, after the headaches and rage became too much. Just quarantine the rest of them and eventually they would just die out. If Maverick lived though…

This was too surreal.

Maeve walked to the window, peaking outside unsurely, spotting the dead body out in the road. A pool of blood rested beneath the body of a woman with lush black hair, and bitterly she imagined it was Kezia. One arm of the woman was reaching up to her hand and the other resting beneath her body. Was there a knife there in that hand? Had she stabbed herself?

Could she let Maverick keep doing this? Could she let him keep spreading it? Could she go back to the way things were? Of course, Tommy was dead and the kids were probably dead too, but could she go back to the way things were? Could she just get married again and live life the way she had, day in and day out performing the same routine, the same useless dance?

Maeve turned and leaned against the wall, staring at the door of the attic.