Chapter 6
We make our way back downstairs to Tasha’s room to finish the job the way we should have all along. I use my bedpost to crush Haley’s, Octavia’s, and Tasha’s skulls so they stay dead while Nurse Patrick and Mr. Josh wait in the hall, looking ill.
The next hour is exhausting. I drag each of the bodies down the hall to the stairwell while Mr. Josh and Nurse Patrick carry them up the stairs and toss them off the roof.
It’s a messy assembly line that leaves smears of sticky blood and black bile up and down the entire hallway.
When the job is finally finished, we’re covered in the stuff, and we smell like death, but we’re safe.
“We can’t go back in the dayroom like this,” Nurse Patrick says.
Mr. Josh and I nod in agreement.
“There are extra scrubs in the hall closet,” Nurse Patrick says to Mr. Josh. “Quinn, we’ll meet you back in the dayroom after you get changed.”
Silently, I walk back to my bedroom. When I get inside, I peel off my filthy clothes and roll them into a tight ball, shoving them into the tiny wastebasket under my sink. I turn on my shower, step into the hot water, and the tension in my shoulders melts away.
The roar of the shower allows me to clear my mind and process what just happened.
There isn’t a sport or gym class that could have prepared me to do what I did today.
I’ve never worked so hard in my life. It occurs to me that this carrier situation is going to demand a lot from me physically, but somehow, I held my own among Mr. Josh and Nurse Patrick.
I feel proud and capable, maybe for the first time in my life.
Once again, that feeling of readiness rises in my chest, and a sense of peace settles over me.
I’ve always felt like I don’t belong, but maybe this is exactly the kind of situation I was made for.
When I’m finally clean, I dry off and dress myself in the most practical clothes I can find.
It’s not like we get to take trips to the mall here, so my choices are limited.
Despite it being summer, I choose loose green cargo pants, a soft black T-shirt, and a flannel button-down.
You can’t go wrong with lots of pockets and layers, and I’d rather not have my skin exposed right now.
Not with Cat waiting to die and reanimate in the dayroom.
I comb through my hair and pull it back into a short ponytail to keep it out of my face.
In the back of my closet, I dig around for my old backpack.
When I first came here, everything I owned fit into that thing.
I guess living out of a backpack might have been good practice for the days ahead.
I toss extra socks and underwear, spare T-shirts, hair ties, and my comb into the biggest pocket.
I tuck a few toiletries into the smaller zipper in front.
Finally, I roll up my hospital-issued blanket and pillow, grab my bedpost, and head back to the dayroom.
When I get there, Mr. Josh and Nurse Patrick are already back, clean and wearing fresh hospital scrubs. The only reminder of what happened shows up in little dark red drips on their shoes.
The hours tick by. Keisha and Lucia sit at the corner table, making a house of cards.
Ginger stares at the television, lulled by the repetitive message on the screen, while January lies carelessly sprawled out on the couch snoring, her soft belly hanging from a sparkly T-shirt she must have outgrown two years ago.
Nurse Patrick changes Cat’s oozing bandage again, while Mr. Josh paces back and forth, worried.
I can smell Cat’s wound from where I’m sitting.
Her arm is already starting to fester, and she’s looking rough with red-rimmed eyes and pale lips.
It’s only a matter of time before she goes gray and turns, but no one seems ready to acknowledge it.
I flop down in a chair and listen to January snore next to me.
I almost snap at Ginger, asking her to change the channel so I don’t have to hear the anchorman repeat his message yet again, but I think better of it.
It’s best to keep her calm. But I do need to find a way to get Ginger to let me scan the channels to find some more useful information. Hmm.
I nudge January with the tip of my shoe.
She stirs but doesn’t wake. I try again, pushing my shoe deep into the flesh of her upper arm. That does the trick. She’s awake, but she’s not sure why. She blinks slowly and looks around, confused.
“Hi, Jan,” I say sweetly.
“I’m tired,” she mumbles, turning to go back to sleep.
“Jan, do you want to play a game with me?”
Her eyes fly open. Now she’s interested. “Yeah! We can make bracelets! Or we could draw pictures of cats! Or…”
“I have another idea,” I say, cutting her off. “Let’s see if we can get Ginger to play with us. We can play restaurant.”
“Oh, yes! I can be the customer! Ginger, will you play restaurant with me and Quinn?” January practically squeals.
Ginger loves to be loved, and she almost never gets invited to join in with the other girls. Her eyes shift away from the TV, and the trance is broken. Ginger and January dump out the basket of snacks onto the card table and begin sorting through the items, forgetting about me.
Satisfied, I walk over to the TV and start flipping through the channels for something useful. Most channels are playing the same two or three unhelpful clips. Finally, I land on something interesting.
A disheveled woman is broadcasting from a dark studio at the local news station. Her eyes look wild, like a trapped animal, but she’s holding it together well enough to maintain her professionalism. I listen carefully as she provides a glimpse into what’s happening outside.
I cough, cough, then sneeze. From the corner of my eye, I can see Keisha snap to attention. She needs to see this too.
“This hour, we’re learning some disturbing facts about those who become infected with this new and terrifying virus.
The carriers are seemingly drawn to the living by sound and attack by biting at the throats of their victims. Those who are bitten typically succumb to their wounds quickly due to rapid blood loss.
Those who suffer nonfatal wounds have a typical survival rate of no more than twenty-four hours.
Those who are bitten by the carriers will become carriers, regardless of the location of their wounds.
Carriers often become stronger than they were prior to infection and are difficult to fight off.
Shots or wounds to the chest have proven to be ineffective.
Only those receiving blows to the head have been subdued. ”
This confirms what we already suspected. The anchorwoman shifts awkwardly, and her eyes dart off camera toward the sound of gunshots in the background. She begins talking faster and quieter. I lean toward the screen.
“Once a person succumbs to their wounds, they will appear dead. It is suspected, though unconfirmed, that loud noises will cause them to rise up. Do not fire weapons. Do not shout. Do not make more noise than necessary. Once the new carriers arise, they are very difficult to contain. It is estimated that one in every twenty-five residents of Peoria has been wounded by a carrier or has become a carrier themselves, with that number rising every moment.”
The background noise grows louder and makes it difficult to hear the anchorwoman, but she continues dutifully.
“Get out of the cities as fast as you can. We will be overrun. In a matter of days, the power grid will fail. Our water reclamation system will cease. Get out while you have the—”
“Turn that off!” Mr. Josh growls, stepping in front of Cat to shield her from the message. But the broadcast has already cut out. Whatever was happening in that studio just silenced the most honest thing we’ve heard all day.
I do as Mr. Josh asks and turn off the TV.
There’s nothing left to hear anyway. Seeing the mood in the room shift, Mr. Josh turns on the soothing music they make us listen to when tensions are high.
Usually I’m annoyed by the sound, but the volume is just high enough to allow me to carry on a conversation and not be heard.
I sit down next to Keisha, Lucia, and their house of cards and give Keisha the we-need-to-talk look.
She gives me a nod, and I begin to tell her what’s been on my mind all day.
“We need to get out of here.”
“No kidding. This place is a deathtrap,” she says, placing two cards in a fragile peak and flitting her eyes toward Cat.
“Cat’s going to die before sunrise tomorrow,” I say, forgetting Lucia is sitting right next to me. “Oh, sorry, Lucia.”
“I get it,” she says in the quietest whisper as she tries to put on a brave face.
“Good.” I nod at her approvingly. She gives me a small smile in return. Sensing it’s safe to speak in front of her, I continue. “We need to take Cat out of the equation, or none of us will be getting any sleep tonight.”
“That’s kind of harsh, Quinn,” Keisha says, but I can tell she agrees. We both know I’m right. Letting this play out naturally isn’t an option.
“It doesn’t matter if it’s harsh. Do you feel like sleeping with one eye open tonight? How do you feel about her taking up resources? Food? Water? Medical supplies? Who knows how long we’re going to need to make this stuff last. It’s best to just end it,” I say firmly.
“I know. I think you’re right; I just don’t like it,” Keisha says, glancing toward Cat again, then looking down at her house of cards. She blows out a deep sigh, sending each carefully placed card fluttering to the floor.