Haemolacria

Fear

That night, Andrew dreamt. He saw his wife again. She rose out of the earth and put the gold ring on his finger, smiling as his teeth dropped out and he doubled over and died. A thousand thousand dreams in which she came to him, kissed him, married him, loved him, then stood by and smiled as he died.

Then the outpost. Engulfed by shadows as the dead stood up and limped forward on deformed legs, grinning madly at him. Everyone had been infected. Everyone was a threat. They would all die! They would all come for him! They all-

Andrew awoke, panting and sweating horribly. He walked over to his personal scanner and checked himself again. The signs were worrying. The readings seemed unsure on how to diagnose him.

He should turn himself in. He might be infected. He could be a threat.

But then they all were, weren't they? The disease struck seemingly randomly, choosing out random people and murdering them slowly. Murder, that's how he saw it. A crazed murderer, picking victims at random and slaughtering gruesomely. But how had that murderer got inside the compound?

Thoughts flashed across Andrew's mind. What if the disease was in their genes, in his skin, under his flesh and through to his very bones, self-destruct instructions carved by a cruel and capricious god into the helix of his very DNA...

"God help me"

Hyperventilating, Andrew opened his drawer and scrabbled for the tiny cross his mother had given him. Always remember, Andrew, this will keep you safe.

The cross cracked under his strong grip and fell to the floor in pieces.

Wilson was worried. He had begun prototyping his machine, which would have to automatically awaken them from stasis. He would also have to mass-manufacture them for all the survivors. Granted, he was a genius, but even he had limits.

Wilson was worried about Andrew, who seemed more on edge now than ever before. Quicker to anger. Quicker to shout at the others. And... And quicker to kill those infected, for now he merely looked away as he did it, as though not caring.

Wilson immersed himself in his work. When he returned back home from the lab on day, he saw Andrew talking with his wife.

"Hello, Andrew" Wilson said cautiously

"Hello Wilson." Answered Elaine, slightly annoyed. Answering for Andrew. "Wilson, he was just discussing his insomnia with me and possible treatment-."

"Andrew, you could have told me." Wilson cut in. Go, now.

"You're busy trying to save humanity remember? These kind of problems need a woman's touch."

Probably not the best choice of words. Whether it was the long hours in the lab or Andrew's apparent calmness to the whole situation, Wilson snapped.

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING WI-"

"Daddy?" A small head peeked around the corner. Lisa was watching them from her bedroom. Wilson's anger dissipated instantly.

"Don't worry, honey. I'll put you to sleep." Wilson went to lie down with his daughter. As he lay, there, stroking her hair, the same dark brown colour as his own, he wondered what had changed between him and Elaine. Maybe it was the long hours away from her. Maybe it was his fault.

A shadow appeared at the doorway. Wilson rose and left the room.

"I'm sorry." Were the first words out of his mouth.

"No, I'm sorry." Said Elaine. "I know it looked bad. I was just trying to help Andrew as a friend. He's been having dreams, nightmares. About his dead wife."

A pang of jealousy went through Wilson. Andrew had confided in Elaine but not him?

"He said she's been troubling him lately. I'm sorry tha-"

"No Elaine. Enough. I apologize for doubting you."

Elaine cried silently and hugged him. But as he cried and hugged her back, he couldn't shake the feeling something had changed.

That night, Andrew's face was twisted in agony as he lay in his bed. The pain stabbed at him. His chest was hurting again now. He was undoubtedly unnaturally resistant to the Pandemic virus, but the symptoms were beginning to weigh on him. He spent more and more time confined to his rooms, alone in his agony. The only person he saw was Elaine, who tried to help him with the dreams of his wife. Whatever Wilson thought of him, all they ever did was talk.

He knew Wilson suspected him. He knew he couldn't do this anymore. He was in too much pain. A single red tear slid down his cheek.

He had no choice. If there was any hope of survival, he had to be frozen with the others, and fuck the consequences.