Page 15 of Glass Rose
The vehicles are arranged in neat rows. Sedans, SUVs, and a few motorcycles. Dr. Vasquez’s sleek black Audi sits in its reserved spot near the entrance, the ‘Director of Research’ placard catching the light. Why did she park in the visitor parking lot?
At the far end, an off-road vehicle idles, its driver’s door hanging open, its exhaust visible in the cold air.
“Someone was planning to leave in a hurry,” Gavin says. “I’ll go first. When I signal, you run. All of you. Don’t stop.”
He sneaks forward, disappearing between the cars. I count heartbeats, each one thundering in my ears like it might be my last.
“What the fuck did they do to him?” Alex presses a button on his camera, the red light a tiny beacon that could get us all killed.
“Turn it off.”
“No way. This is?—”
“Evidence of your stupidity when they find your corpse.” Dr. Cho’s voice is ice. “Turn it off.”
The red light disappears. Small mercies. Gavin reaches the car, dropping into a crouch beside it. He signals with a quick wave.
My legs burn as I sprint across the open pavement, expecting at any moment bullets piercing my back or the shriek of an alarm. Luckily, nothing comes.
I reach the car first, sliding into the passenger seat as Gavin takes the wheel. Dr. Cho climbs in behind me, but Alex hesitates, scanning the lot with his camera.
“Get in the fucking car,” she hisses.
“One second, this is gold?—”
The distant crack of gunfire decides for him. He dives into the backseat, yanking the door closed as Gavin starts the engine.
“Seatbelts,” Gavin says, so matter-of-factly I almost laugh.
The world’s ending, we’re fleeing a zombie outbreak, and he’s concerned about traffic safety.
“Just drive,” Alex snaps.
Gavin’s eyes meet mine. “Your friend has a death wish.”
Not my friend, I want to say. Not anymore. Maybe he never was.
He steers out of the lot, keeping the headlights off until we’re past the outer gate. In the rearview mirror, orange flames bloom against the night sky at the edge of the facility. Green Research burns. A funeral pyre for everyone still trapped inside. For all the evidence. For any hope of containing what we’ve unleashed.
Alex stares out the window, Dr. Cho hugs herself, and Gavin drives with the focused intensity of someone who expects an ambush.
I gather my phone with trembling fingers, staring at the screen as it lights up. Seventeen missed calls. Five from Dr. Brown. Three from the facility emergency line. The rest… from my mother.
Dozens of text messages.
“Cell networks are still up,” I say.
“Not for long,” Gavin says. “Military will shut them down once they realize the scope.”
“Scope?” Dr. Cho leans forward. “You think it’s spread beyond the facility?”
I scroll through social media, expecting breaking news alerts and emergency broadcasts. Something. Anything. But there’s close to nothing. The only video popping up is shaky footage of figures attacking pedestrians downtown, and the news reporter cuts off mid-broadcast as something lunges at the camera. The comments…
@CityGirl98: Anyone else seeing weird shit downtown? People fighting in the streets near Memorial Hospital. Cops everywhere.
?@TruthSeeker44: Nice AI generation. Getting better with the lighting effects.
?@RealityCheck: Another fake crisis video. Don’t fall for it.
