AN: Does anyone remember this? Well it's back and it's amazing. Something in me told me this was a good story that could go somewhere. First SciFi fic, you know? Please enjoy. Please review. I'd like to know what you think of my whacky idea here.

Ver.

Prologue

“Zoë!”

The bloodcurdling scream ripped me from my sleep. Not minding to put on my slippers, I tore down the hall and into my fathers room that once held both of my parents but my mother had been taken by the virus just a month ago.

“Zoë,” my father pleaded as I knelt beside his bed. Sweat pooled on his brow spilling down his face into his aging cracks like rivers. “Zo...”

Before he could finish, I sprinted down the hall trying best not to trip over the carpet as I dived for the phone. Through watery eyes, I pressed the three digits 9-1-1 finding it harder to remember then I thought those times I joked about it in school.

The phone only rang once when an operators voice chimed through bored.

“9-1-1 what’s your emergency?” I opened my mouth trying to form the words but nothing came out. “What’s your emergency?” The women said again sounding irritated.

I gulped hard finally able to force out my emergency. “My-my-my dad. He’s...He’s.”

“Excuse me? What’s wrong with your dad, ma’am?”

“I need and am-ambulance. My-my dad. He’s-he’s dieing!” My scream was at the same time as my fathers down the hall, his pain and struggle like a knife in my back.

“What’s wrong with him ma’am?”

I was silent once again. Tears falling from my face in waves now. I could hear the operator on the other end chewing loudly into the phone getting frustrated. Her throat was a desert but I got out, “He has Verritus!”

The line instantly went silent, only our breathing floated through the receiver. “We’ll get someone to you as soon as possible. Address please?”

I sounded off our address five times before I finally got it right. I knew there was no reason for them to send anyone out, for my father would be dead before they got to the house.

Not waiting for the operator, I slammed the phone down racing back down the hall into the room my father lay dieing. The stench of death loomed in the air so apparent I could taste it. My hand reached out taking his trembling one, squeezing it in my shaking fingers that only seemed to be twitching at how his were convulsing. We didn’t speak a word to each other. I starred into his dark eyes, pupils barely visible in the sea of red that enveloped them. My hand started to grow hot and I looked down at my father’s swollen fingers turning red, veins popping up all down his thin arm.

“Dad,” My voice cracked. His free hand lifted to my cheek so hot it burned my flesh. He stroked the stray strands of brown from my face and smiled.

“You look just like your mother.” The words were muffled coming out in a gurgle.

“Shh, dad. Don’t speak.”

“I love you, Zoë girl.” He breathed in sharp, shaking hand dropping from my cheek.

I caught his other hand feeling them both go from burning hot to frigid old. “I love you too, daddy.”

A grin spread on his violet lips as he began to slip away. I turned my head, pulling my hands from his to cover my ears to block out the struggling gasps and shrieks that started. It seemed like hours, but only seconds, before he was gone. My eyes raised up to look and regretted it thankful the room was too dark to see the full damage the virus had done on him.

Sobbing, I flowed to the ground into a ball, eyes pinched so tight they began to burn. Outside I could hear the sirens of the world’s savior’s just minutes too late to save my father’s. No. There was no way of saving him or anyone who contracted the virus. Everything ended the same for each of them. There was no life guarantee for Verritus.

As the footsteps of paramedics swept through the house, I prayed that I wouldn’t be next to go. Not this way.

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