Dose

Chapter 4

"Sickness, insanity, and death were the angels that surrounded my cradle and they have followed me throughout my life" -Edvard Munch

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The Ward sucks.

Not in the way that old hospitals did. The old hospitals at least had private rooms for their patients, and some of them had a hope of survival. The Ward is just a large container filled to the brim with varying degrees of death. The Ward was always crowded. For years they worked to create a cure for all diseases: Omni. Omni eliminated everything... except for the disease. Now the Ward specialized in souly NVI, and they were powerless to stop it. Slowing it was the only option.

When I walk through the pristine metal doors of the Ward, the first thing that hits me is the odor. It smells strongly of bleach, the too-clean smell covering up the stench of unwashed bodies.

Then the sound assaults my ears. Some people are muttering to themselves. Others are screaming at the top of their lungs. Most are wailing. Every single person in the Ward has black veins and bloodshot eyes.

I wrap my arms around myself as if that will make the noise and smell go away.

A woman approaches me, her even-toned skin and bright eyes marking her a Medic. She doesn't wear protective clothing or even a mask; Nobody does, because they know they can't die from NVI. Not if they take their Vitanox every morning. NVI resides in everyone, dormant, but Vitanox is our only lifeline to keep it at bay.

It makes me sick— no pun intended— to think that the Ward has a full supply of the counteracting medicine, and all of these people lie here to die simply because they can't afford it.

"Hello, dear," the woman exclaims brightly, flashing a wide grin. "How may I help you today? We have some in the back if you've come for identification."

"For what?" I ask. Her happy face shifts suddenly to something that she must have thought was understanding.

"We keep the unidentified bodies for three days in the back room. That way, if a loved one drops by, they can say a proper goodbye."

I almost throw up right then and there. Anger boiling my blood.

"And you think that helps?!" I burst out. "These people are dying, and you're doing nothing to help them!"

The woman's eyes are as big as saucers. "What did you just say?" she nearly whispers, in a tone that makes me want to rip the smile right off her face.

"I'm saying that this place is a glorified graveyard!" I yell.

We both go silent for a moment, the wailing and screaming of the infected people in the Ward filling up silence between us.

Finally, she speaks again, in a more soothing tone. "I will look into that, okay? We'll see what we can do. In the meantime, why don't you tell me why you're here?"

Her words hit me like a battering ram. Why I'm here... I'm definitely not here to criticize the only Ward we have in this city. To yell at this woman. Why was I yelling at her? She's only doing her job. When I speak, my voice reflects my confusion.

"I'm... I'm here because... because I haven't taken my medicine in over a week. My sister wanted me to drop by."

The woman's smile fades at my words. "Okay..." she says slowly after a few moments. "You stay right here, I'll be right back."

I nod, and the woman turns and heads toward a backroom. From here, I can just barely read the sign. Authorized Personnel Only.

My heart begins to pound faster. Why did she need to go back there? What is she getting?

The muted clang of the main door among the ruckus of the diseased people catches my attention, and I spin around to face the entrance.

A boy, probably in his mid-twenties, is running through the masses of dark veins, carrying a much younger boy in his arms. They both have the same tanned skin and light brown hair, so I guess they must be brothers.

The older boy's eyes lock on mine, and he runs over. I have to stop myself from taking an involuntary step back; his eyes are a piercing shade of blue. I've never seen eyes that color before.

Up close, I can see the smaller boy's face is very pale and very still. He is a ragdoll in the boy's sturdy arms. Only a few days ago, that had been me.

"Are you a Medic?" He doesn't even wait for my answer, even though it is an obvious no. "I need you to take a look at Zeke—I mean, Ezekiel. Ezekiel Jones." He pauses as if waiting for me to take out a clipboard and write the name down. I take the opportunity to interrupt.

"I'm not a Medic. One just went in the backroom, though."

His blue eyes flick to the door. I can't look away from them.

"Thanks," he stutters quickly and runs past me toward the door. A Medic stops right outside the side room just before the boy reaches it. They talk quietly to one another when the Medic snatches the younger boy—Ezekiel—and disappears through the door.

The older boy freezes for a minute or two like he can't believe his baby brother was just taken right out of his arms. He was clearly expecting to be let into the back to watch over his sibling. Suddenly, he lunges forward.

Like the idiot I am, I follow him through the door that clearly neither of us are supposed to go through. I want to know what's going on, and I'm sure as hell not going to rot in the room full of dying people, waiting for my turn.

Our footsteps echo off the metal walls of the long corridor we find ourselves in, and I see the older boy glance over his shoulder at me. We both skid to a halt only moments later. The cause of the sudden stop is the wall made entirely of glass to our right.

I pull the boy back so we're out of view from anyone on the other side of that wall, and put a finger over my lips to signal for him to be quiet. He nods, dark blue eyes wide but determined.

I risk a glance around the corner and into the room beyond the glass.

I can't find anything immediately wrong, but I can feel it. Ezekiel is nowhere in sight. The glass-lined walls shine an unnatural purity... an immaculate facade to hide the display of bodies beyond its perfection. People—and children—stand straight inside water-filled tubes. They are hooked up to beeping machines and horrific contraptions.

Upon first glance, I figured these are simply to keep them alive, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Many of their faces are contorted in agony as they thrash around. Some are screaming for help and mercy as Medics inject a serum into their liquid prisons. These people are drowning in their own screams for help.

It's a terrible sight, but the most disturbing part is that these people are not sick. They have no signs of illness: black veins, cuts, or scars. These people are perfectly healthy and they are being punished for it.

All of a sudden, it crashes into my mind, leaving me dizzy and weak. This is what will happen to me. One of those tortuous tubes has my name on it.

Fear threatens my body and my knees buckle. My heart plummets into my stomach, heavy as lead when the black-haired Medic turns. Her pale blue eyes lock directly on my frozen form.

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