Chapter 1
Military district-California
November 21st
Artemis
Twenty-seven days of non-stop work, and my limbs quivered with exhaustion. Every breath felt like I was exhaling fire, but the thought of Polly lying in a hospital bed without proper treatment gave me a surge of determination that fueled my weary muscles. With each labored step, I whispered her name to remind me why I couldn’t give up now.
The store manager was giving me so much overtime that I could help pay for Polly’s hospital bills. My legs felt like they were wading through quicksand, but I couldn’t stop.
With a final heave, I lifted the last cardboard box full of store products onto the crowded shelf in the back room. My arms were trembling, and my fingers felt numb from the strain. Sweat dripped down my forehead and stung my eyes, but I wiped it away with a shaky hand before I reached out to snag my water bottle. I took a fast, deep drink. The cool liquid soothed my aching throat. Despite the physical exhaustion, there was no time to rest—I needed to get to the hospital before visiting hours ended. With heavy steps, I entered the manager’s stuffy office and almost sneezed. The air inside was thick with dust and overcrowded with paperwork.
I wearily leaned against the sturdy frame of the wooden door. My arms nonchalantly crossed over my chest. My fingers tapped against my bicep as I waited for Kurt to notice me. Though I tried to appear relaxed, my body betrayed the fatigue that weighed heavily upon me. “Truck’s done,” I announced to Kurt, my urgency to get the fuck out of here too strong to wait.
He was hunched over his computer. His watery, beady eyes followed the text on the screen. His furrowed brow and focused gaze showed how deeply he was engrossed in his work. He usually spent several late nights here to ensure this supermarket, the only one in this district, ran well. The dim light from the desk lamp cast eerie shadows across his face, deepening the lines on his forehead and giving him an aged appearance. He looked much older in this light than I knew he was.
Kurt grunted, his wrinkled hand gesturing toward a tattered cardboard box in the corner of the room. I tilted my head curiously, uncrossed my arms, and made my way over to it. Inside were all the paychecks for the grocery store employees. I sifted through the stacked envelopes until I found one with my name on it, written in messy handwriting: Artemis.
My mother had always been fascinated with ancient mythology. My name was taken from the goddess of the hunt, and my twin sister from the god of music.
“Neil called out sick,” Kurt said wearily, his voice breaking me from the memory. The chair squealed as he leaned back. He ran his hands down his tired face. “Can you do me a favor and cover his shift tomorrow?”
The weight of his request bore down on me, but I couldn’t say no to Kurt. He understood my situation and gave me all the extra hours he could spare. He knew how badly I needed the money.
I clenched my jaw but took a deep breath to let my frustration disappear. Exhaustion consumed every inch of my body, but the memory of Apollo’s bright smile lingered in my mind. “Yeah, I can do that,” I mustered up some enthusiasm despite my fatigue. “What time?”
Kurt furrowed his brows as he stared back at the laptop screen. The sound of rapidly clicking keys filled the air as he typed on the keyboard before he told me a time. I nodded my head in understanding.
Apollo and I were born identical twins, inseparable from when we took our first breaths. Our bond was unbreakable. It was forged in the womb and strengthened by every shared experience we had ever had. We were both assigned male at birth, but during our teenage years, Apollo came to me with tears in her eyes and revealed that she had always known she was a woman and wanted to start transitioning. Our parents were so proud of us no matter what we did. Apollo had always taken care of me as I was a hyper-focused type of person. I could spend hours working, forgetting that I needed to eat and drink or get up to use the bathroom. Apollo had always just been there. She would set down a sandwich before she picked up whatever bug I was studying, snapping me out of my work and asking questions about what I was doing while I shoveled the food in my mouth and answered around it. She would just smile. I knew she didn’t care. She was there to distract me so that I took care of myself. I always seemed to need a keeper.
For Polly, this last month had been a ruthless fight for survival. The once vibrant woman was now reduced to a ghost of herself, her complexion a sickly shade. Despite the most potent medications and treatments, her condition continued to deteriorate. I had sold off our belongings one by one, each item carrying precious memories that we could no longer hold onto. With nothing left, I was forced out of our cramped apartment and into the filthy streets. I hadn’t told Polly yet, but I would when she was better. She had a bed to sleep in, and right now, she didn’t need to know that my temporary shelter was behind the grocery store dumpster. The cold, hard concrete pressed against my back as I lay awake, my mind consumed with worry for her and desperate prayers for a miracle. But despite all the struggles, I held onto hope and determination to save every penny for the experimental treatments the doctors were trying to keep her alive.
I left Kurt and walked into the hall, quickly tearing open the crisp envelope and removing several perfectly folded bills. My fingers danced across the surface, eagerly counting and double-checking to ensure they matched the amount written on the slip of paper. Kurt may have been known for his strict management style, but he always compensated us for our hard work. As residents of a military city with tight budget constraints, our pay was modest, but we took comfort in knowing that we were receiving what we rightfully deserved. The bills felt cool and smooth against my fingertips, a tangible representation of my dedication and perseverance.
The fluorescent lights flickered as I made my way down the hallway. It was only a few steps, but I was so tired that it felt endless. I moved past a few dull metal lockers and the loud, constant, annoying hum of the vending machine on its last leg into the break room and looked around. There was no one inside.
I went to the employee fridge and opened it, looking for something that I could snag. I grabbed a cellophane-wrapped sandwich, not looking at the name on the label to ease my guilt. Just pretend it’s yours, I told myself. I grabbed a pack of peanut butter crackers and slid them into my pocket while looking around to make sure no one saw me. I shut the fridge, grabbed my water bottle, and filled it at the sink. Then, I carefully searched cabinets for any leftover food. A small bag of chips lay on a dusty shelf, which I grabbed.
With these rations tucked into my pockets, I returned to the lockers and grabbed my backpack. Inside the bag were a few things I still owned. A change of clothes and things I needed to keep myself put together—my razor, toothbrush, and deodorant. I couldn’t let anyone know that I was homeless right now. That was a sure way to lose a job. Even though Kurt was a mostly fair boss, he wouldn’t accept lousy hygiene. The guy was almost more worried about sickness than I was. However, I was worried more about bringing anything back to Polly.
I opened the bag and saw my mother staring back at me. The small photo was pinned to the inside of the bag as a reminder. Nestled among the pictures was my mother’s necklace. The delicate silver chain held two charms: a dainty bow and arrow for Artemis and a stylized lyre for Apollo. Both were adorned with deep red rubies, representing the month we were born in. Whenever I wore it, I felt connected to her somehow, even though she was gone. On days like this, when everything felt too much, when life felt overwhelming, and her absence weighed heavily on me, she was my person. The one who was always there for me no matter how bad life had gotten for us. She had been our cheerleader. Always supportive and pushing us to follow our dreams.
In this desolate, post-apocalyptic world, the glint of jewelry was rare and precious. It was something that could get you mugged in the streets if you weren’t careful. The military-controlled society only allowed for necessities to be distributed among its citizens. But my father, resourceful as ever, had managed to hold onto a small box filled with delicate gold and silver pieces. Each piece had been used as a bartering item when we had desperately needed something. I had been forced to sell off every piece we had left except for the necklace our mother had worn on her wedding day. The one that was our namesake.
Stepping out into the cramped alley behind the grocery store, I was immediately hit with a wave of putrid stench. My nose wrinkled. Fresh foods were the most expensive, and even though we only stocked a few of them because most people couldn’t afford them, our dumpster was always full of rotting foods we couldn’t sell. A homeless man was half inside the large trash bin, rummaging for something to eat. His eyes darted to me, his eyes wide as he froze like a scared animal, but I just smiled at him reassuringly before turning to walk toward the hospital. I wouldn’t discourage him from trying to find something to eat.
I reached the junction of the alley, just past the dumpster, and turned onto the busy street. The streets were crowded this time of day, everyone trying to get home from their everyday job. Against the buildings were homeless people begging passers-by for help. I was lucky to have a job despite being homeless. I kept my head down and away from them so I didn’t catch anyone’s eye. I felt terrible enough walking past them.
I made it to the barricade into the next district. People were waiting in line to show the soldiers their IDs so they could cross. I pulled out my ID and waited for the line to move. I didn’t recognize the man today as I passed my ID to him.
“What are you going to be doing in the district this evening?” he asked me in a bored tone, looking at my ID and then my face.
“My sister is in the hospital. I’m going to see her,” I answered the man. He nodded his head and handed my ID back, and I slipped it into my pocket. He signaled that I should move along.
Once I passed the barricade and into the less busy part of town, I pulled the sandwich I had taken out of my pocket and devoured it quickly. I swallowed it in large mouthfuls to try to erase its existence faster so I didn’t have to look at it and feel guilty about taking something that didn’t belong to me. I tossed the now-empty cellophane at a nearby trash dumpster before continuing on my way. This part of the district was cleaner. They funneled the poor or sick into the lower districts, away from the people who didn’t want to see the effect it had on those in need.
As I gulped my water to wash down the food I hadn’t even tasted, I passed someone in a lovely dress. “You looking for some company tonight, honey?” they asked as I walked down the road.
“Not tonight, thank you,” I said over my shoulder, not stopping. Prostitution was a legal profession now, but there were laws in place to keep it clean. You had to get tested every week. Pills had to be taken to try to prevent the spread of sexually transmitted diseases, and if you came back positive on any of the tests, you were no longer allowed to work as a sex worker. However, that didn’t stop some in the poor districts. If they were caught, they were forced out of the city.
When I finally reached the hospital, I pulled up my mask again and nodded to the soldiers outside the doors. We had seen more military in this part as more people started to get sick. The sterile smell of antiseptic and illness assaulted my senses, even through my mask, as I entered the bustling lobby. My senses were now on high alert as I snaked through the people in the waiting room.
The hospital lobby was chaotic, with patients and visitors moving in every direction and staff constantly chattering over intercoms. It was more crowded than a few days ago. Despite the hustle and bustle, I navigated through the crowd easily, dodging people and trying to remain inconspicuous as I approached the guard at the elevator entrance. The doors slid open as I made my way toward them.
Amidst the chaos of a crowded and frenzied hospital, a woman’s piercing voice cut through the air. She was arguing with a security guard at the entrance, drawing the attention of everyone in the lobby. As I walked through the crowd and onto the elevator, I noticed that most people around me were dressed in scrubs or white coats, their faces shielded by masks and goggles. The severity of this unknown illness was evident in their fearful expressions and urgent movements. Whatever this flu-like illness was, it was making people react strongly. The thick air in the elevator felt suffocating, another reminder of our protected city’s dire state. The doors opened on Apollo’s floor, and I stepped out. I cautiously scanned for any signs of security before skillfully slipping past the nurses’ station and toward her room. My senses were on high alert, ready for unexpected obstacles or danger. Just as I passed by, one of the nurses called out my name, and I froze.
Brittany had just sat at her desk, her chair spinning to face her computer before her fingers idly flipped through the glossy pages of a fashion magazine. Her perfectly manicured nails clicked against the cover as I approached, my footsteps echoing through the quiet hospital hallway.
“It’s after visiting hours, Artie,” she said with a hint of annoyance.
“I know,” I replied, trying to keep the exhaustion out of my voice. “But come on, Brit. Give me some slack. I had to work a double.”
She gave me a quick once-over, her gaze lingering on the dark circles under my eyes and the wrinkles in my uniform. Concern filled her features as she breathed deeply, her glossy lips forming a slight pout. Getting out of her chair, she came over to inspect me.
The muted lighting cast shadows on the walls, making it seem like a deserted maze rather than a bustling hospital corridor. “Are you okay, Artie?” she asked, leaning against the cool wall with a hand on her hip. I gave her a genuine smile and shrugged off her worry, noticing the familiar fatigue etched on her face.
“Just tired,” I assured her, trying to ease any further anxiety.
Brittany’s scrutinizing gaze softened at the admission, her eyes glancing back down the corridor like she was expecting someone to emerge from the shadows. “You’ve been working too hard, Artie,” she eventually murmured, a touch of genuine concern seeping into her usually tough-as-nails demeanor. “You need to take care of yourself too.”
I merely shrugged, a hollow smile pulling at my mouth. I knew she meant well, but little did she know that self-care was a luxury I couldn’t afford in these desperate times.
“I’ve been pulling doubles at the store so I could buy Polly medicine,” I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper as I allowed myself this small moment of vulnerability.
Brittany’s sharp intake of breath echoed ominously in the dimly lit hallway. She knew better than anyone what that meant—the medicine wasn’t cheap, and work was hard to come by. “Artie…” she began, her voice thick with worry and sympathy.
“Don’t, Brit,” I interrupted her, unable to bear any more pitying looks or sympathetic words. “I’m managing.”
With a heavy sigh, she nodded and whispered, “Okay.” But as I turned to leave, she quickly added in a hushed tone, ‘If anyone asks, I was on break when you walked in. I saw nothing.” Her words hung in the air for a moment before I understood the weight of what she was implying. With a dismissive wave of her hand, she motioned for me to go before her eyes darted back to the magazine. Grateful for her discretion, I continued down the dimly lit hallway toward Apollo’s room, trying to keep my steps light so they didn’t echo in the quiet hallways. It was so different from the elevators and lobbies. I could hear the loud tapping of keys on a keyboard and the beeping of the monitors, but other than that, it was eerily silent. Even with the overcrowding, only the patients who were extremely sick got beds on the upper floors.
I entered the room with a cautious step, careful not to make any noise. The lamp’s soft light cast a warm glow on Polly’s face as she lay on the bed. Her blonde curls spilled over the pillow in gentle waves, framing her delicate features and giving her an almost ethereal look. As I moved closer, I could see that her pallor had turned a sickly shade of white, making her appear almost ghost-like. Her eyes were tightly shut, creased with pain, and her breaths came in short gasps—I knew she was awake. The pain was terrible for her. I set my backpack down by the chair, then pressed the red button that lay on the bed that would administer pain meds.
I smiled down at her as her eyes slowly fluttered open. She struggled to focus on my face in the dimly lit hospital room.
“Hey, Polly,” I forced a smile on my tired face.
Her voice was weak and hoarse as she greeted me with a faint smile. “Hey, Artie. You shouldn’t do that. It costs too much.”
“I don’t care. I won’t let you stay here hurting. I will find a way to pay for it,” I told her before sitting in the chair.
She reached for the cup of water on the side table, her bandaged hands shaking slightly. It looked like she had on baseball mitts. I lifted it to her dry, chapped lips, careful not to spill a drop as she took a small sip. When she pulled away, she was visibly exhausted from the effort. Still, she managed to ask me, “How was work?”
The heart monitor beeped steadily in the background. I grasped her hand lightly. I knew they hurt. The sickness had made her lose her fingernails. Yesterday she told me she had lost a tooth. I was concerned this was some sort of cancer they hadn’t seen before.
I carefully set the empty cup back down on the bedside table. Its surface reflected the soft light of the lamp. A thin smile graced her face, illuminating her pale features. Her body was emaciated from weeks of battling a relentless fever and being unable to hold anything down.
“I had a productive day at work today,” I spoke softly, trying to maintain a calm and reassuring tone. “They offered me some extra hours.” Her being sick like this wasn’t fair. She had made it through so much already. The sight of her this frail brought tears to my eyes. “And the check finally came in,” I continued, fighting to keep my voice steady. “We can finally afford the treatment that the doctor prescribed. You just have to hold on a little longer, Polly.” My grip tightened on her hand as I willed her to find the strength to keep fighting.
Apollo’s lips trembled as they struggled to form a weak smile, her exhausted body barely able to muster the effort. “I’ve always been the one who refuses to back down,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice cracking from her parched throat. Her eyelids fluttered closed again, her body sinking into a deep weariness. “Keep it for yourself, Artie… You’re the one who’s shouldering all of this.” The weight of exhaustion and pain weighed heavily on Apollo’s frame, her body trembling with each breath. She looked like a warrior on the brink of breaking.
Her words landed on me with the force of a hurricane, knocking the breath out of my lungs. I shook my head vigorously, my fingers gripping her cold wrist under the bandages so tightly that I could feel every bone beneath the skin. “There’s no way,” I whispered fiercely, willing myself to stay strong against the overwhelming weight of emotions threatening to consume me. “We made a promise to each other, Polly. We’re in this together.”
Her voice quivered and shook, barely audible above the constant beeping of machines and the bustling movement of nurses. She weakly squeezed my hand, her fingers trembling from exhaustion. I could see a deep-seated fear that had likely been there for a long time in her eyes. “The doctor came back today,” she whispered, strained and frail. “Gave me another injection. Took more blood.” A sense of hopelessness lingered in her words.
My jaw tightened with fear, muscles clenching as I struggled to maintain composure. “What did they give you, Polly?” Her trembling increased under my touch as she avoided meeting my gaze.
An uncomfortable silence fell between us as the pain medications took effect, and I watched her eyes drift shut. Her face was much more peaceful. I clenched my jaw, wanting to shake her back awake. To make her focus. I wanted answers, but I also needed her to get better.
“It’s okay, Polly. Rest. You need it.”
As she dozed off, I reluctantly released her hand and reached into my backpack. My fingers closed around the delicate chain of the necklace I had brought for her. Slowly uncurling my hand, I carefully linked the necklace around her neck. The charms glistened under the harsh hospital lights from the hallway, a physical representation of our unbreakable bond and promise to one another.
The bow and arrow glinted in the soft light, symbolizing Artemis and all she represented—courage, strength, and resilience. Apollo also possessed these qualities, passed down from our mother, who believed in us with unwavering faith.
The room was filled with an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of her labored breathing. I hated hospitals, but I wouldn’t let her stay here by herself for as long as I could help it.
Just then, a sharp and unexpected knock at the door was jolting me out of my thoughts. My heart raced as I faced the stranger in the doorway. She was a nurse, like all the others, but something about her serene smile seemed off.
“Excuse me,” she said in a gentle tone. She wore pale pink scrubs and a crisp white jacket. “I’ve been assigned to transport Apollo for her scheduled procedure.” I stood up from my seat, a knot forming in my stomach as I tried to comprehend the unexpected news.
“What kind of procedure?”
I asked as my heart started racing. She simply shrugged, gesturing towards the badge pinned to her uniform that read “Transport Aide” in bold letters.
“I’m afraid I don’t have all the details,” she replied, her voice steady but not unkind. “But I assure you, it’s important for her treatment. I’m just here to take her where she needs to be.”
Fear gnawed at me as bitter bile rose to the back of my throat and clawed at my insides. I swallowed it back down, forcing myself to stay composed. “Can I accompany her?” I asked.
A moment of hesitation flashed across the nurse’s face before being replaced with a polite yet firm denial. “I’m sorry, sir,” she started, mirroring the same empathetic tone from before. “Only authorized personnel are allowed in the procedure rooms.”
“Don’t worry, Artie,” Polly said, making me jump. My conversation with the nurse must have woken her up. She rubbed her bandaged hand against mine on the bed rail, trying to soothe my frayed nerves.
I sighed deeply as I rubbed my tired eyes. “But at this hour of the night?” I protested, then turned to the nurse with a pleading expression. “Couldn’t it wait until morning?”
The nurse’s features softened with sympathy, but her tone remained resolute. “We must bring her in while we have the time, sir, or it could be days before we can find time to see her again,” she explained gently, her voice as soothing as warm honey.
I gritted my teeth but leaned down and gently hugged Polly, her bandaged arms wrapping around me.
I sighed as I sat back in the uncomfortable plastic chair as the woman wheeled Polly away. My weary eyes closed for a moment, but I tried to stay awake and wait for Polly to return.
A sudden, jarring noise shattered the peaceful quiet of the room. My eyes flew open as I bolted upright, causing the chair to skid back a few inches as I stood up, my heart racing with adrenaline. My gaze snapped to the door where a woman stood, her yellow bucket and mop creating a rhythmic clatter against the tile floor.
The woman in front of me, dressed in a crisp white blouse and pencil skirt, shifted her weight from one foot to the other with an apologetic look. Her bright blue eyes traveled over my face, taking in my disheveled appearance and brow furrowed with concern. I could see the question forming behind her lips before she spoke, her full lips parting slightly.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said, her voice tinged with genuine regret. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.” My gaze flickered to the clock on the wall, realizing it had been hours since Polly had left. Panic began rising within me as I realized how much time had passed without noticing.
“Where is my sister?” My words tumbled out in a rushed and desperate manner. She frowned in confusion.
I gently spoke my sister’s name, “Polly,” hoping it would jog her memory. But her face showed no sign of recognition. An anxious knot formed in my stomach.
“I’m sorry, I was instructed to clean this room for the next patient,” she explained nervously.
A sense of unease prickled at my skin as her words sank in—a vacant room meant for someone else. That couldn’t be right.
I gently corrected the confused woman, my voice echoing softly in the quiet hallway. “This is my sister’s room, Apollo,” I gestured towards the door. As I moved closer, I could see the faint outlines of her name etched into the wood of her badge: “Cassandra.” Ignoring the puzzled expression on the woman’s face, I made my way to the nurse’s station in search of Brit, my sister’s primary nurse. A new nurse sat at her computer, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she focused intently on her task.
My heart pounded against my chest like a stampede of wild horses. As I approached the reception desk, the familiar scent of sterilized air and antiseptic lingered in the hospital hallway. My palms were damp with sweat from anxiety as I clung to the cool countertop for support.
“Excuse me,” I interrupted the woman behind the desk, trembling slightly. I leaned in closer, desperation bleeding into my voice. “My sister Apollo was taken for some tests a few hours ago but hasn’t returned yet. Can you tell me where she is?”
The hall was quiet except for clicking keys on a keyboard as the nurse made notes on the computer. Without lifting her gaze from the computer screen, she responded in a monotone voice, “What room?”
I hesitated before replying, my voice echoing through the sterile space. “Room thirty-two.”
She shifted her eyes to the side of the screen before answering, her fingers still dancing across the keys with expert precision. She was clearly more focused on her work than helping me, her attention consumed by whatever she was doing.
Like a droning machine, the nurse's monotonous voice said, “Room’s vacant.”
I rolled my eyes at her robotic tone and suppressed a sigh. “No, it’s not,” I retorted, trying to keep my patience in check. “It’s my sister’s room. Where is she?” My frustration was evident in my tone as I spoke to the woman.
The receptionist didn’t seem fazed by my irritation and simply replied, “What’s the name?” Her tone remained devoid of any emotion, adding to my growing annoyance.
“Apollo.” I gave the woman my sister's name again, irritation finally bleeding into my tone, unable to hide my ire any longer. As if sensing the tension between us, the fluorescent lights above flickered ominously, casting a cold glow on the sterile walls and making me feel even more trapped in this seemingly desperate place.
My heart raced as I watched the clerk enter my sister’s name into the computer. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach as I watched her face go pale. Her eyes darted to the military guard by the elevator. Her hands shook as she lifted them to adjust her glasses before she reached for the computer mouse and clicked through the screens she was looking at. “I-I’m sorry, sir,” she stuttered, her fingers trembling on the keyboard. “It says here that your sister is listed as deceased.”
That wasn’t right. It had to be a mistake.
I couldn’t keep still. I paced back and forth in front of the desk, my eyes locked on the now-frazzled woman. My heart raced, my mind filled with all sorts of scenarios. “No, a couple of hours ago…” I managed to say, struggling to keep my voice steady. “She was taken away by a nurse in pink scrubs for some kind of test or procedure.” My desperation grew with each word. “Please, tell me where she is.”
A low, commanding voice echoed from behind me. I whipped around to face a burly soldier who was guarding this floor. His massive frame towered over me. His muscular arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and his stern expression was enough to make me shrink back. “Sir, you need to calm down,” he ordered harshly, sending shivers down my spine.
I gulped, intimidated by his imposing figure and the hardened lines etched into his face from years of dealing with unruly individuals.
“I’m just looking for my sister,” I turned my back on him to address the nurse. “Please, please tell me where she is,” I trembled as fear overwhelmed me.
The sterile hallway felt suffocating as I waited for her answer. I could hear the footsteps of the soldier behind me as he started to approach me. The nurse’s expression turned grave as she consulted the medical records at her station. “I’m sorry, sir, but it seems your sister passed away several hours ago.”
My body went numb. My hands shook.
“No, that can’t be right,” I pleaded, tears filling my eyes. “A woman in pink scrubs came and took her just a few hours ago.”
“Nurses in this facility wear blue. No one wears pink. You must be mistaken.” She plucked at her scrubs that were hanging off her frame. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re wrong!” I snarled back at her, slamming my hands down on the counter. “Where is she!”
The man’s hand clamped down on my arm with a sharp, vice-like grip, his fingers digging into my flesh like hooks. His voice boomed in my ears, authoritative and commanding as he tried to soothe my racing mind.
“Sir,” the soldier said firmly, pulling me back a few steps. “She’s already told you that you are wrong. No one took your sister.”
The adrenaline was pumping through my veins at full force, making it nearly impossible to focus on his words. I balled up my fist and turned, hitting the man in the chest. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst from my chest, and my breath came in ragged gasps as I struggled to control my emotions. The weight of his hand on my arm only added to my agitation, sending electric jolts through my body. Every nerve ending was on high alert, ready for whatever may come next.
My voice shook with panic as I snarled at the towering man restraining me. “Let go of me!” I yelled, my desperation making my voice sound reedy as tears started to flow down my face. I tried to break free from his iron grip. I thrashed against him, my legs flailing as I pleaded for release. I knew I must look like a toddler in a tantrum, but my heart pounded in my chest, a wild and frantic rhythm that matched the chaos in my mind. Apollo couldn’t be dead. She had to be here, somewhere within these walls. The soldier swung me around quickly and grabbed my other wrist so that my arms were crossed over my chest and my back pressed into his chest. The man’s strength was overwhelming, like a mountain pinning me down.
I could see the woman from my sister’s room holding the mop as she stood, shocked, in the hall. Her hands were white-knuckled on the handle, her mouth agape, as she stared at me, watching me struggle with the guard.
A man with a stern expression shouted over the commotion. His white coat flapped around him as he jogged through the hall towards us. My head shot to the voice, recognizing it. The doctor placed a hand on the soldier’s arm, and my eyes were drawn to the blood that stained his coat. I still tried to free myself from the grip of the other man.
“What is this madness?” he snarled, “Artie, what are you doing here? Patients, including your sister, are trying to rest. Why are you creating a disturbance in the hall? This is a hospital!”
“Apollo’s not in the room!” I screamed at him through my tears.
“What?” The doctor turned questioning eyes to the nurse, who was now standing behind her desk.
“It says right here she passed away after a procedure several hours ago.” the nurse told him, moving away from the computer as she pointed to the screen.
The doctor went behind the desk to look at the screen. I watched his face pale as his hand reached for the mouse and clicked it.
“Let him go,” the doctor told the soldier solemnly as he turned around and grabbed something off the printer.
The soldier released me slowly as if he wasn’t sure if I would start losing my mind again. I looked over my shoulder at the soldier, who was narrowing his eyes at me. “Don’t make me fucking regret letting you go.” His voice low and just for me. My feet planted on the ground as the doctor walked over to me. I could feel the tears falling from my eyes, traveling down my face and dripping onto the floor.
“I’m sorry, Artie, but she is gone,” he told me, his eyes were glassy. My heart dropped as he held the paper out to me. “They took a photo for the records.” The doctor’s hand shook a little as my fingers wrapped around the proof of my sister's death. I couldn’t look at it for a second, and my head tilted back so that my eyes stared at the tiled ceiling.
“No,” I heard myself say. Taking a deep breath, I brought my head back down and wiped the tears from my eyes to see the paper. I tried to calm myself as they opened, and the image of Apollo came into view.
Lifeless eyes stared back at me in a face I knew all too well. Her mouth was parted slightly, and our mother’s necklace was still around her throat.
“It says they started the procedure, but Apollo had a seizure. Then her heart gave out. I’m so sorry, Artie,” he told me, gripping my shoulder. His eyes shone with sympathy. His jaw tight as he held back his own emotions.
I couldn’t believe what they were saying or what I was seeing. This couldn’t be happening. She was the only thing I had left.
“Sir, your bag,” Cassandra, the cleaning woman, said, holding the strap of my backpack up. I didn’t take it. Cassandra softened her voice, trying to be sensitive. “Come on, guys. He is in shock. Just let him be. I will walk him out.”
The doctor and the guard nodded and moved away. The nurse sat back down at her desk. Everyone was still looking at me like I would try to attack them.
Cassandra wrapped an arm around me and urged me to walk with her. It was as if I were in a trance, unable to resist her pulling me towards the elevator. I let her push the button for the bottom floor. Neither of us spoke as it made its way down. As the doors opened, she guided me past the people waiting to get on, and weaved us through the bustling lobby until we reached the hospital entrance. There, she abruptly let go of my body and pushed my bag into my hands. I fumbled and barely caught it before it hit the ground.
The woman’s voice was a whisper, so quiet that I could barely make out her words. “You need to go before the soldiers kill you, too,” she warned me, her eyes filled with fear. She turned and began walking away, her footsteps soft and hurried on the linoleum floor.
???
It was like I was a zombie as I stumbled out of the doors of the hospital and onto a bench at the park just a few blocks away. My body thudded into the seat next to a man who was smoking from a pipe. He took one look at my tear-stained face and got up to leave me alone.
I sat there staring at the paper in my hand. Apollo’s face looked back at me. My sister, my Apollo, my anchor in these times. I hated being alone, and now, that’s what I was.
The silence was deafening. I could still hear her laughter echoing in the corners of my mind. Images of her playing with the neighborhood kids flashed before my eyes. She had always been the brave one who dared to believe that humanity still had a chance while I was lost in dark cynicism.
The world outside the hospital seemed surreal, as if I’d found myself in an impressionist painting—colors blurred and indistinct. I felt like a ghost haunting the ruins of our past life.
The sun slowly rose over the horizon, casting long shadows that stretched out like clawed fingers across the city as it hit the fallen buildings. The stars faded away to nothingness as their light signaled a new day. It was like a cruel joke against the pain I was feeling in my chest.
I sat on that bench for hours, or perhaps it was seconds—time lost meaning. My body felt numb and empty, like a shell discarded by some sea creature. I observed mothers hurriedly ushered their children down the street as curfew was lifted for the day. The streets were filled with people bustling around, trying to get to where they were going without attracting attention, their heads down.
Eventually, I rose from my seat and began walking without purpose or direction. My feet carried me along familiar pathways soaked in memories too painful to endure.
My mind teetered on insanity’s edge as I crossed paths with memories that lurked behind every corner—the park where Apollo and I used to play, the closed-down ice cream shop that we went to with our parents.
I was all alone now.
I looked back down at the picture, and in the light, something on the image caught my eye: a thumb connected to a hand, and at the wrist, the edge of a pink sleeve.
I took a sharp breath as I yanked the picture closer to my face and studied the image. In the corner, just at the edge, was someone’s hand on Apollo’s shoulder. A manicured nail and the sleeve of a pink jacket could be seen in the same shade as the jacket of the woman who had taken Apollo away.
Then, the words of the woman slammed back into my brain. She whispered as she pushed me through the doors leading outside the hospital. Leave before they kill you, too. She had said that to me, but I hadn’t registered it in my grief-filled state.
Turning sharply, I raced down the streets back to the hospital. Fury filled my veins and ate at my soul. My heart raced as I processed her message. Was it true? Could the people in this hospital be capable of murder? Had they just killed Polly?
I turned the corner and stopped at the edge of the street. My mind was consumed by what they could have done to Apollo. I needed answers, and there was only one place where I could go and try to get them.
The hot breeze brushed against my face as I approached the building. I was no longer exhausted. Adrenaline-fueled anger coursed through my body. I couldn’t let this go. I wouldn’t accept that she had just died. She wasn’t improving, but I wouldn’t accept that her body had just given up.
The hospital towered in the distance, its darkened windows reflecting the sun’s light. It seemed to beckon to me, a sinister presence now, not a place that had held so much hope just hours before.
A stern man in a military uniform was staring at me right next to the hospital entrance door. His arms crossed over his chest. He looked at me with narrowed eyes, which made me halt in my tracks, but he just watched me as I watched him.
The rumors of why the military was at the hospital seemed so suspicious now. Why did they need to control the outbreak?
Questions borne of desperation gripped my mind. Nightmarish thoughts began to spill like black tar over the landscape of my consciousness, tainting every normalcy I had clung to. The reality before me was elusive, a hazy fog I was forced to navigate.
I stood still on the sidewalk, my body bathed in the harsh glare of the morning sun. I was a man standing on the precipice of an abyss, staring into the unknown. Fear threatened to consume me, but I held it at bay as best I could. Apollo deserved bravery, even if it was too late.
With a deep breath, I willed my trembling legs to move forward. As I got closer, the soldier’s eyes narrowed further, and his lips tightened into a thin line. He stepped toward me just as I reached the threshold, his heavy boots thudding against the concrete.
“We are under orders not to let anyone in,” he said, his voice harsh and authoritative, like sandpaper against silk.
“I need to go in. I left something behind.” Trying to make any excuse to get back inside.
His eyes narrowed further, assessing me like prey. “Hospital’s closed for the day.”
I clenched my fists, cold steel rising in my veins. “I wasn’t asking.” My voice was hoarse from the grief I’d swallowed but firm enough so he knew I wouldn’t back down.
In an instant, his gun was out and pointed at my head. He looked down the barrel as his thumb clicked the safety.
“Get the fuck out of here before I put your ass in a body bag,” he growled, his face hard and calm.
My heart pounded a frantic rhythm that echoed my tumultuous thoughts. His words hung between us, a threat that pushed me closer to the abyss of despair. My breath hitched as I stared at the barrel of his gun, and for a moment, I felt the cold embrace of death.
Images of Apollo flashed before my eyes—her vibrant laugh, fiery spirit, and steadfast belief in humanity’s chance at survival. The image of that pink jacket sleeve tightened its grip on my memory. She had always been the beacon in my life, guiding me through the darkness.
But now, as I stared down the abyss of a black barrel, I was without my guide. I needed to navigate this treacherous path and confront whatever horrors lay within that hospital for her sake.
“Listen,” my voice trembled with desperation and stubborn resolve. “My sister’s in there. All I want is some answers.”
The soldier didn’t blink or lower his weapon. His cold eyes bore into mine with an intensity that made me feel like an insect under a microscope. Something was turbulent beneath his stony exterior, a hint of humanity that whispered tales of loss and survival.
“I don’t care about your sister,” he rasped harshly, yet his voice had an undertone of sympathy.
His words cut through me like shards of glass, but I didn’t move an inch, not letting him see their effect on me.
“What if it was your sister?” I shot back, taking a step forward. I froze as I watched him place his finger on the trigger.
“I wouldn’t let my sister come here.” His eyes flickered at that, and for a moment, I thought I saw something other than hostility. He understood what was going on here.
I took a step back before I turned on my heels. If he knew what was happening, then there was only one place I could go to get answers.
I turned my head to look back at the soldier. He still stood there watching me, his gun still in his hand but lowered, pointing towards the ground now as I turned the corner for the street I had just come from.
My mind raced back to the woman’s words: You need to go before they kill you, too. Chills ran down my spine. Could it be that the hospital was behind Apollo’s death? But why? We were just ordinary people leading ordinary lives.
I shook my head vigorously, the movement causing a sharp ache to reverberate through my skull. I desperately tried to break through the fog of confusion and grief that clouded my thoughts. As a man who prided himself on reason and logic, I found this overwhelming chaos unfamiliar and unnerving. The world seemed to be spinning out of control, and I was caught in its relentless whirlwind. Apollo was gone. Now, I need to find out how her life had ended.
Questions echoed incessantly in my mind as I walked away from the hospital. My skin prickled with unease at the mere thought that the people who were supposed to be protecting us may be killing us, but I couldn’t afford to let fear consume me. My only focus now was on uncovering the truth about Apollo’s fate. It had become my sole mission, one that I would see through no matter what obstacles lay ahead.
I approached the military outpost, my worn sneakers crunching on the gravel path. Through the smudged glass windows, I saw a military recruiter sitting at his desk. Stacks of papers were scattered around him, and he was deeply engrossed in his work. I easily pulled the doors open and walked right up to his desk. I waited for the man to raise his eyes to mine. As soon as he did, I spoke, “I want to sign up.”