Page 31 of Glass Rose
No time for grief now. Survival first. Mourning later.
I shift into reverse, glancing into the rearview mirror, and freeze.
A figure, a middle-aged woman in a blood-soaked bathrobe, staggers down the middle of the road, movements uncoordinated and limbs dangling. Even from here, I can seethe gaping wound at her neck, flesh torn away to expose glistening muscle and cartilage. Her head swivels toward me, drawn by the rumble of the engine.
Mrs. Peterson.
She brought us cookies when Mom broke her hip. Her foot catches on the pavement, and she tumbles down to the hard ground. It’s like every Infected has a different level of IQ and strength. Does it have something to do with the person they were before?
It would make sense why my father didn’t notice us. He had a hearing problem.
Mrs. Peterson claws her way toward her meal.
Me.
Do I drive her over?
My brain screams at my body to move, to slam the gas and get the hell out, but it won’t cooperate. I’m a goddamn scientist frozen like prey before a predator that shouldn’t even exist.
That I helped create.
A crack splits the air, and Mrs. Peterson’s head snaps back, a spray of dark matter erupting from the exit wound as a military Humvee rumbles into view, its gunner still positioned at the mounted weapon. Four soldiers in hazmat gear spill out, rifles raised.
“Clear the area!” one shouts through his mask, voice muffled but authoritative. “This neighborhood is under quarantine.”
The front door of the house across the street flies open.
“What is all this noise?” Mr. Reyes steps onto his porch in boxers and a tank top, clutching a baseball bat. “Was that gunfire? What did she do? You can’t just kill an innocent elderly woman.”
“Sir, return to your home immediately,” the lead soldier orders. “This area is under containment protocols.”
Mr. Reyes doesn’t budge. “Containment for what? Where’s your warrant? This is private property!”
“Sir,” the lead soldier tries again, “we have authorization to use lethal force against infected individuals and those impeding containment efforts.”
“Infected? What are you talking about?” Mr. Reyes steps down from his porch, bat still raised. “Nobody here is sick! You can’t just?—”
The soldier raises his hand, signaling to the others. “Check him.”
Two soldiers approach Mr. Reyes, while the third keeps his weapon trained on me. My pulse pounds in my ears as I grip the steering wheel, knuckles white.
“Fuck this.” I hit the gas, and the tires screech against the pavement as I back out of the driveway.
“Stop the vehicle! Stop now!”
I don’t, foot jamming the accelerator harder. The truck lurches backward, smashing into something solid—the Humvee.
“Shit, shit, shit!” I throw the truck into drive, yanking the wheel hard left. “Sorry!”
My father’s prized vehicle fishtails across the street, narrowly missing Mr. Reyes and the soldiers.
“Dr. Cruz!” The lead soldier’s voice carries over the engine’s roar. “We need you to come with us! Stop immediately!”
They know my name?!
I floor it, heart hammering against my ribs. The rearview mirror shows chaos—Mr. Reyes wrestling with one soldier while another aims at my retreating truck. The third sprints back toward the Humvee.
Around the corner, I spot Gavin in the van, engine running. I come to a halt alongside him.
