The Disease

Part 2

***

PRESENT DAY

Short chains kept her wrists on the cold concrete floor of her cell. She screamed, ice blue eyes reflecting all her pain, all her suffering. She knew a guard must have been keeping watch just outside the metal bars that served as her door. They always were. At fifteen years old, she was smaller than most. But her physical size did not any way contain her feistiness. She was strong, and she was a fighter. The Disease did not bring her down, it built her up, unlike most. Most gave into the Disease, letting it torture them until it finally swept them into the pits of death. But not Roca. She fought it, and had been for longer than most who were infected. At it for eleven years, and still able to function normally. That is, until she had an attack. When Disease overcomes you, takes you by the brain and does whatever it wants to.

Roca was discovered to be contaminated when she was four, when she had her first attack struck her and the Disease killed her parents gruesomely. A tragic happening, really. She was brought to the local Keepings, where those with the Disease inside them reside for the rest of their time. It's infected over three billion, and killed over two billion of that already, in the small time it's been a real issue.

The epidemic began roughly twenty years ago, when a man in a small town slaughtered his whole family and neighbors, then hung them up, skinned and beheaded, like meat in a butcher shop. The next day, he confessed he had no recollection of ever doing such thing. Doctors and scientists alike were intrigued by this strange happening. When the next case, a women who set her apartment complex alight, popped up halfway around the world, the news media got involved, terrifying the whole population of the planet. As more and more became infected, we declared a state of emergency. Researchers worked for years and years, trying to figure out how the disease spread. They finally reached the conclusion that the Disease chose who it wanted, who would be its next mouthpiece.

Many said it was Satan, coming to take back earth. Others thought it was just a virus that was spreading through the air, getting the weakest. Some just thought they ought to go inside and lock the windows and doors. Roca's family was one of those. They spent most of their time indoors. When Disease seemed to subside a year or so later, they reluctantly began to resume their regular lives, as did the rest of the world. But the day of Roca's attack, she was the spark of a new wave. After she was taken into the Keepings, diagnoses began to spread like wildfire, bringing half the world under the Disease's unkind grip. No one had ever survived it.

Roca screamed again, shredding her already raw vocal chords. She new it was the only way to get any attention from the staff. She was in Keepings 3367, one of millions around the world. Her town was one of the first to get one, as someone from there helped design them. The Keepings were sort of like hospitals, but reserved for those with Disease coursing through their purpling veins. It was constantly delivered the newest equipment, the newest medications. Anything to stop the Disease, anything to cut the pain.

A guard whipped around, appearing around the corner of her cell. "Keep it down in there, you insipid bitch." He snapped, turning back around.

"Can't I get a glass of water? Or might that disturb you from your dirty magazines." She snapped, glaring at him through icy eyes that hid behind stringy black hair. He scowled, muttering under his breath as he walked toward the door that lead to the galley. She smirked, scooting back to the corner of her bare, bland cell. The chains rubbed the skin around her wrist until they were red and tender. She'd built up calluses, but it had been awhile since she'd been forced to wear them. Apparently, they're the welcoming gift for when you get a new cell. They had to move her lots of times, as the surrounding patients always complained of her screams that filled the otherwise near silent nights. This time, the cell in directly in front of her, across the pathway between chambers, was left empty. Roca wasn't sure if the compartments on her either side were occupied or not, as there were actual concrete walls between them, instead of the steel bars that fronted them. She hadn't heard any of them have an attack yet, which she always could.

The grumpy guard returned, a metal mug filled with tap water clenched in his fist. He came up to the cell, sticking his arm through the bars. Roca stood, slouched over, walking as close as the chains would let her to the door. She reached out, able to graspe the mug with her slender fingertips. "Thank you," she said, voice sweet once again. Roca shrunk back in the cell, curling into the corner of the cell with her mug of water. She only screamed when she needed something, or felt the Disease trying to pull her under. She wasn't that rude. She pushed a stained hand through her stringy hair, scraping the long strands out of her deathly pale and veiny face.

She really wasn't a horrible person. It's just what the Disease does to you. Even when you're not under an attack, it still has power over you. It still whispers in the back of your mind, a constant reminder of its power over you, of how weak you are. Some, well, most, go insane. The Disease likes to play with your mind, likes to make you think things that aren't true.

Roca sat, staring into the reflection of her icy eyes in the water. Slowly, her eyes shifted. Her iris went red, and she looked closer. Her entire eye began to turn black. The all too familiar feeling of unnecessary power overcame her, and her muscles tensed as she stood faster than she thought she could. Her hands flew up, the cup clattering to the floor. She managed to fight through the influence and choked out the necessary words.

"Help! A-Attack!" She yelled, as loud as she could. Guards came in from either side, wearing protective clothing and brandishing handcuffs and straightjackets. Roca fought the attack, filled with fearful adrenaline, and tried to break through the barrier of Disease. She strained to stay above the tidal wave, trying to control her body, her thoughts. The world became hazy, as the Disease traveled further into her brain. Luckily, she managed to stay mostly still while the guards unclipped her from the chains and straight jacketed her. They carried her, as she spouted out the odd and eerie language, all the way to the attack cells, where patients remained in a small closet-like room that monitored them until they regained control of themselves.

For some, attacks were a more regular occurrence than if was for others. It was just the luck of the draw. Roca was among the lucky few that only had attacks once a month or so. Some go them weekly. They weren't just a small happening either. You had to be contained in an attack cell until it ended, which could be in five minutes or, in extreme cases, five days. Then you had to be closely monitored for twelve hours. Sometimes, while you were still under attack, they experimented on you. Any data about them would be helpful. Attacks left you shaken and exhausted. Some of the weaker ones even died because of the severity of the attack.

What happened during the attack was up to the Disease. No controlling it.