I've barely stood up when I hear the door slide open behind me. I spin around to see Hartley in the frame, Isaac trapped in a headlock. His chest rises and falls quickly; his eyes sit wide open panic. Fear courses through the both of us— Hartley has a gun pressed against his temple.
"Hello, sweetheart," Hartley coos. "Did you finish watching your videos?" I step backwards towards the glass door, ignoring him. "I'm being rhetorical. I know you did; we were watching from next door."
My eyes lock on Isaac. He's gone still, but his jaw clenches as he grits his teeth. How in the world did Isaac lose a fight with Hartley? He just took down a man four times his size.
Hartley inches closer to me; the glass door presses against my back. I feel the doorknob, the keypad, my escape. But how am I going to get Isaac from him? What's the code, first?
"Now that you know what happens to people that fight back, do you still feel like rebelling?"
I slowly and hesitantly nod. I can't stop now. I've made it too far.
He tsks at me. "Too bad. I guess it's time to meet your consequences then." He presses the gun deeper into Isaac's skin and moves his finger to the trigger. "Any last words for your boyfriend, here?"
I trace the buttons on the keypad with my fingers, placing the numbers mentally. They're soft and worn, waiting. The code won't be Mandy's birthday. Not again.
I run what I just learned through my head. Dad's still on my side, even though I originally thought he wasn't. He wants me to destroy the second strand. So, he wouldn't make this too hard. It's got to be something I know and Hartley doesn't.
"Yeah, I do," I blurt out, looking back at Hartley. "When's my birthday?"
A look of confusion crosses his face. My fingers start typing the digits in.
"How in the world would I know when your birthday is?" he asks, scowling.
"Haven't you been listening in on all of my birthday parties? Or is it just campfires that interest you?"
He smirks. "You're feeling brave, aren't you?" I wince as he squeezes Isaac, forcing him forward. "Why should I know your birthday?"
If I'm right about this, Hartley can't follow me in. I have to be right. There's no other choice.
"You shouldn't," I mutter, pressing the last button with a trembling finger.
1202
The lock emits a loud beep, and the door slides open behind me. I grip the handle and duck into the room as Hartley aims for me. A bullet lodges itself in the glass as the door slams shut again. My feet take me back a few steps, away from the rage on his face.
In one furious movement, Hartley throws Isaac to the ground and rushes to the door. He jerks at the handle, slams random numbers into the keypad, and bangs on the glass. Nothing happens. Finally, he straightens up and glowers at me.
"What's the code?" he hisses. The glass muffles his voice.
"When's my birthday?" A nervous smirk creeps up on my face.
"I don't know!"
"Well, that's the code."
He explodes, slamming his fists into the glass again. Face red, he turns to Isaac, pointing the gun at him.
"When's her birthday, Montez?" he shouts. I trip over my feet running back to the door— one hand on the handle, the other plastered against the glass.
"I— I don't know." Isaac's eyes dart between me and the gun, wide and panicked. They mirror the fear he showed in the basement, when he saw the Infected behind me. My stomach does a flip so intense that I think I might puke.
"You're telling me you have no idea?"
Isaac shakes his head violently. Strands of black hair escape his bun.
A gunshot echoes through the two rooms, and my eyes instinctively clench closed. Chills spread over my body. When I look again, Isaac twists on the ground in pain, clutching his leg. Blood pools on the floor beneath him. It grows with the passing milliseconds.
"Stop!" I scream, slapping the glass to get Hartley's attention.
"Then either come out or tell me the code." He says this without looking at me.
"No!"
Another gunshot sounds, and Isaac screams. He pulls his leg closer to him. Now his shoe is red with blood. I tighten my grip on the door handle, but he looks up at me and shakes his head.
"Go," he mouths, starting to cry. The sight shatters my heart, and I feel my knees grow weak under me. Every part of him trembles.
I can't do this. I can't let Hartley hurt him. It's over. I look down at the door handle and start to turn it.
"Jaelyn Price!" I snap my head back up at Isaac. "Go!" The words leave his mouth in a desperate scream. I choke back a sob and press a shaking hand against my mouth.
Hartley finally looks back at me. The anger written in his face is a fury I've never seen before. He taps his watch with the hilt of his gun. "Every five minutes you're over there, I waste another bullet on him. I'll start on the lower limbs and work my way towards his heart. It'll be a slow, painful death, because I want you to hear him screaming."
I back farther away from the door, swallowing back bile and fear and anger. Tears run rivers down my cheeks. I have no choice. I have to do this; everyone's counting on me.
"You'll bear responsibility for his death, girl," Hartley growls. "Is that really what you want?"
I shake my head but still back up.
I have to.
Isaac wants me to.
Without thinking, lest I chicken out and open the door, I turn and sprint towards the back of the room. I throw my body into a chair facing away from the window and cover myself with my arm. A computer screen groans to life before me. I press a sweaty hand against the reader, and then tap the only file.
Instead of a video, a typed message pops up on the screen. Wiping snot and tears with the back of my hand, I sit up to see it better.
Jay:
Congratulations on making it into the inner room. By now, I hope you realize I'm on your side. I wasn't able to openly support you without risking my own life. Yes, I'm aware of how selfish that is, but I want to see you grow. You're already so amazing. You are going to do great things. Forgive me for wanting to be present for them.
You're here now, though, and you know. You have to destroy the second strand. It's our only chance of making it out of this in one piece. Hartley won't kill you; he wants to use you. Use that to your advantage.
He won't kill me, but he will Isaac. The thought makes me shake.
The key to destroying the second strand of the virus is to contaminate it. You can do that by injecting some of the cure into the storage containers where the virus is being held. There is a soft lining on the top of the containers that can be easily pierced by a syringe. Inject the cure; destroy the strand.
The tricky part is going to be getting a hold of the cure.
I have confidence in you.
-Dad
Staring at the screen, I realize the full depth of the mistake I made earlier. There's no cure left. How am I supposed to get any more?
I tap the red button in the corner of the dialogue box and look for another file. Directions, help, anything. This is it, though. There's no plan b. I clutch both sides of my head and rise up out of the chair. My legs take over, pacing me up and down small space.
Every second I waste is another bullet. I have to hurry.
Dad's trying to help me. He knows what I did; he planned for this. If it was impossible, then I wouldn't be here, and he wouldn't have faith in me. Somewhere within these four walls is the cure.
Wait.
I freeze and look down at myself.
I am the cure. It's inside me.
Without hesitation, I lunge at the first aid kit that hangs on the wall. It holds a dozen or more different medical supplies, but I throw everything out onto the floor in a hurry. Gauze, antibacterial cream, band-aids, burn cream, rubber gloves, alcohol wipes... I yank out the tourniquet and a new syringe.
During Guard training, we were required to pass a basic first aid training course. I learned CPR, how to set an IV, give shots, check pulse and blood pressure, and treat shallow cuts. One thing I didn't learn was how to draw blood. It can't be much different than setting an IV, right? That was hard enough, and I did it.
I tie the tourniquet around my upper arm and jerk it tight, watching the veins in the crook of my elbow protrude.
A gunshot crashes through the room, followed by an ear-piercing scream. I nearly drop the syringe as I cringe away from the sound. I force myself to look away and focus on what I'm doing. Isaac's being tortured outside that door. There's no time to be slowing down.
I pull the syringe packaging apart with my teeth, spitting it out onto the floor. The size of the needle makes my head spin. Taking a deep breath, I brace myself and push. It hurts. So much more than it should. It makes me want to close my eyes, but doing that is a terrible idea. Blood trickles from the site, but it also pulls up into the open air of the syringe. I grit my teeth and draw even more out.
When the needle's full, I pull it out of my arm, stomping my foot in pain. Putting it in was hard enough, but the dull tug of metal against skin is even worse. I hoist my arm up over my hand and shuffle awkwardly through my box with the other. All that I can find in a cotton pad. So, I hold it against my arm. Bleeding myself out right now wouldn't do anyone any good.
Still gritting my teeth, I start circling around the room and injecting a few drops of blood into the containers. When the blood meets the blue liquid, it turns green. The blood spreads like ink, and the blue liquid starts to bubble and pop.
I stand for a moment to watch the first container until it's entirely green. The bubbles morph into foam, which spreads down the mixture. The foam disappears, leaving a sickly yellow liquid behind.
I move on to the next one, then the next, then the next, until I have to stop and draw more blood. Each time I have to stop, it makes an even bigger mess of my arm. The containers seem to go on for miles, though. By the time I reach the last one, I've drawn blood from both elbows and the back of both hands. It runs down my arms. A red trail follows me across the room.
If I heard another gunshot, I wouldn't have known. Everything is fuzzy, and I struggle to stay on my feet as I ruin the last container. Fighting against gravity, I drag myself back to the glass door. It's all I can do to type in the code and fall through.
"You," Hartley growls, lunging towards me. "You actually did it. I'll have your head on a plate, Price. No one will ever know what happened in this room." He jerks me up by the hair. "Look at your boyfriend. See what you've done."
I peel my eyes open and blink back tears. Isaac lays before me passed out in a pool of his own blood. My heart sinks down to my knees, and I gasp wildly for air.
"No!" I fight against Hartley's grip, scratching at his risk. The word launches out of my mouth over and over and over, growing louder every time. My feet skid in the blood that gathers under them. It's a losing battle, but my mind won't shut off.
Hartley slams me to the ground. My chin hits the floor— hard— and I reel in shock.
"Guards!" he barks into a radio. The door slides open, and a dozen armed guards swarm the room. "Detain her."
There isn't much left to detain. The nearest person grabs me, cuffs my hands behind my back, and tosses me over his shoulder. I struggle against his or her grip, but there's no energy left. So, instead I scream, cry, yell— anything to get Isaac's attention.
He still hasn't moved though. The thought that he may be dead slams into me, and my rage turns into desperation and fear.
"Take her to the Psych Ward. Lock her up in solitary, where she should have been to begin with." Hartley nudges Isaac's head with his foot, turning his face away from me. "And this one... take him for disposal."
The guards carry me out kicking and screaming, begging and sobbing, but all I can do is watch as two others pick my Isaac up and disappear with him.