The Plague (Book 3): Winter Storm

by Isla Jones

  DECONTAMINATION

  ENTRY ELEVEN

  Vicki took Mac first. The elevator returned for Adam and the ‘payload’, Noah. Then, a while ticked by before it came back for Lisa and Oscar.

  I’d been in the lobby too long. I needed the toilet, bad, and Cleo whined so much that I suspected she did as well. With just me, Leo and Castle, it was as silent as the nights outside. Every pop and rumble of my belly filled the room, and knowing that they could hear it flushed my face from chin to hairline.

  Cleo had enough. She hopped off my lap and trotted to the middle of the lobby. She peed, right there, on the floorboards.

  I grimaced. The mere thought of crouching to clean up her mess had my wound twisting. I didn’t have to. Leo pushed himself from the floor and used his face-towel to wipe up the mess from the floorboards.

  Cleo trotted back to me, proud.

  “Thanks,” I said, just as she hopped onto my lap.

  Leo threw the towelette onto a tall, narrow table. “You owe me. That was Egyptian Cotton.”

  Just as I smiled, the familiar groan of the elevator finally neared.

  “The three of you may enter,” announced the voice. Before, it had been two at a time, but with only three left, it made sense to cram us all in at once. Though, I wasn’t exactly pleased about being stuck with the pair of them for longer than I’d already suffered.

  Castle got to his feet with a sigh and stretched out his sore muscles. Leo helped me off the armchair, but once upright, I used the IV stand to support my weight.

  Cleo stuck close to my boots, her tail between her legs. She wasn’t excited about her first trip in an elevator. “Can one of you carry her for me?”

  To my surprise, Castle scooped her up and balanced her on his forearm. The sight of it snatched me back to the auto-shop. I’d forgotten that Cleo had some trust in him, that she’d sit herself on his lap sometimes, or—when she was feeling sassy—bite him in the middle of the night for trying to put his arm around me.

  Numbly, I walked into the elevator and avoided looking at him. The elevator door shut, trapping us all inside the most uncomfortable ride I’d ever taken. No cheesy music broke the silence, there was nothing to look at besides reflective metal, and the fluorescent lights shone down on us so brightly that even to shut my eyes was blinding.

  Leo broke the quiet and held out his hand. Palm-up, he offered me two white pills. I recognised them as the strong pain killers Vicki fed Mac earlier.

  “Take them,” said Leo.

  I glanced between him and Castle, who nodded.

  “Why should I?”

  “It’ll be a while before you get any rest,” he said. “We have a long clearance procedure ahead of us. You’ll be putting a lot of stress on your injury and I can’t say when you’ll be treated by a doctor.”

  Hesitant, I reached for the pills. With a final glance at Castle’s blank face, I took them and stuffed them into my mouth. I’ve always found it hard to swallow pills without water to wash them down with, but I managed after a few tries—and a bitter, salty taste in my mouth.

  Finally, the elevator stopped with a jolt.

  The door slid to the side and revealed a white room, encased by glass.

  I trailed in behind the deltas, sticking close to them both.

  My gaze swept all over.

  Around us were glass walls so thick they resembled plastic; they lined in layers with white light bulbs separating them. Opposite, a box-like glass room loomed with a metal-framed door.

  “I’ll go first,” said Leo. Then with a wink at me, he added, “Pay as much attention as you like. I’m not shy.”

  Castle gave a curt gesture that snapped Leo back to his duty. I made to ask what he was going to do, but he stalked to the door opposite and pushed inside.

  Alone, Leo stood in the glass room.

  Not even a flicker of concern passed over his smug face. His teasing nature suddenly made sense. Boldly, Leo stripped down to nothing but his olive skin and bite scars. I flushed and tried not to drift my stare downwards. He winked at me, a gesture that earned him a scowl of mine.

  That’s when I realised the glass room was soundproof. Leo threw his head back and laughed, but from his mouth came no noise.

  I shadowed Leo with my gaze. He stalked over to the far side of the room where there were small metal doors that opened to chutes and compartments. He stuffed his clothes down the larger chute, then emptied out his bag onto trays that fit in the smaller compartments—and about sixteen cartons of cigarettes.

  “It’s the same procedure at all government bases,” said Castle stiffly. “In the case of an outbreak, we must prove we’re free of contamination, and pass quarantine.”

  “But he is contaminated,” I said. “They’ll see it—his scars are everywhere.”

  “I added my own notes of his encounters in the mission statement.”

  From another compartment, Leo pulled out two trays and filled them with his weapons. A lot of weapons. Pistols, knives, an M4, a rifle, a box of ammo, one after the other until both trays contained small mountains of weapons. I couldn’t help but smirk. When he was finished, he strolled back to the centre with a wicked smirk of his own.

  How he relished in my burning cheeks and wavering gaze.

  Vapour started to creep into the glass box. It slithered out from vents near the floor. Soon, Leo’s feet were submerged in the smoke, then—a rush of vapour flooded wall to wall, and swallowed him up completely.

  The vapour had stolen him from sight. I couldn’t see him, not a shadow of movement, not a flicker of an arm. He was gone.

  “What happened?” I shrilled. “What was that?”

  Castle’s tone was as cold as the outside; “Decontamination.”

  The smoke cleared and Leo was nowhere to be seen. The room was empty. A jolt of panic shot through me and I swerved my wide eyes to the stoic Castle beside me.

  Profile like stone, he gestured to the door. “Now you.”

  I gaped slightly as he led me to the glass box of vanishing peoples. My hesitation showed in the way I dragged my feet and clung to the IV stand as if it would somehow save me.

  Castle made an impatient sound and ushered me through the door. As he followed me inside, the woman’s voice snapped through the room; “One at a time, please.”

  Unfazed, Castle lowered Cleo to my feet and stayed crouched—he unlaced my boots, and the realisation struck me with the heat of a lightning bolt. He was going to undress me.

  “She’s injured,” said Castle; short, curt, and firm, leaving no room for argument.

  The urge to boot him away trickled through me, but an even stronger urge to melt against him clutched my bones. I swallowed and fixed my stare straight ahead. Not once did I glance at him—not as he slipped off my boots, unbuttoned my jeans, or peeled them off with my leggings. A grateful breath escaped me; he’d left my underwear on until last, saving me from a vulnerable humiliation that, even now, made me rather squeamish.

  Then, he stood and blocked my line of sight. The gleam of his sharp eyes captured my gaze, and I found that I couldn’t look away.

  Castle slid off the parka from me. “I’ve seen it all before.”

  Was that meant to make me feel better? It only cheapened every time he had seen me like that.

  My lip curled. “Those times, I let you see it all. This is different.”

  The difference was want. Back then, I’d wanted our shared gazes, our entwined bodies. But in that room, I had little choice, and it was far from intimate. It felt … violating.

  Castle held my stare as he ripped my sweater—his old sweater—down the middle, then tugged it off me. Beneath, a tank top revealed my dislike of bras. Cheeks hot, I set my jaw and prayed he didn’t look down.

  He read my mind.

  “I won’t look,” he promised, his voice a whisper.

  With every piece of clothing he removed from me, he stayed true to his word. The whole time, his gaze never faltered or drifted from mine.
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  After, he stuffed all my clothes into the same chute Leo had put his, then emptied my bag into the trays. I noticed he touched his fingers to my diary a moment too long, then placed it in its own tray. Before he could leave, the woman spoke through the speaker again and had my blood running cold.

  “Remove the bandage as well.”

  At the compartment wall, Castle bowed his head and slumped his shoulders. He wasn’t enjoying this either, I realised.

  I bit my lip to silence a groan of pain and unhooked the clasp on my bandage. I tried to tug it away from my body, to unwrap it myself, but Castle stopped me.

  He marched over and put his hand on mine. Still, his gaze didn’t drift downwards. “You’ll just hurt yourself doing that.”

  Our gazes locked as he unwound the dressing with delicate fingers. More delicate than I’d thought him capable of.

  At the cabin, when he’d redressed my shoulder wound, he hadn’t been half as gentle as he was in that room.

  “Do you think they made Mac take off his bandages?” I asked, watching his stony face. “His legs might’ve fallen apart.”

  Castle cut a glare me, then pulled back to the chute.

  He finished up and handed me Cleo, who I used to shield my freckled chest. Without a backwards glance, he exited the room. The door was quick to lock behind him.

  Not a second after, a cold burst of vapour flooded the room. I coughed into Cleo’s trembling fur and shivered. The image of a steam room sprung to mind, if steam rooms were filled with ice mist.

  Smog still flooded the room from wall to wall, ceiling to floor, as the voice gave me my orders: “Follow the red blinking light to your left.” It paused a moment, then added, “Leave the crutch behind.”

  Reluctantly, I abandoned the IV stand and limped over to the light. It blinked faintly through the smoke, to the side of the compartments. The sound of something depressurising came from beneath the light, and as I got closer, I realised that it was a failsafe door opening for me.

  I slid through and hugged Cleo to my chest.

  Beyond the door stretched a narrow corridor. I limped down the long hall. Metal flanked me and made me think of the elevator trap, as if the elevator had been stretched like warm taffy.

  It was a long walk to the end of the corridor. So long that, when I glanced over my shoulder, I couldn’t see even a faint outline of the door I’d come through. But the door before me—I was beginning to suspect the CDC had a door fetish—opened to a small foyer, not unlike the one upstairs. Only, this one’s welcoming was on the sterile side. Clinical and cold.

  I limped inside and saw a dark-skinned, shaved-headed soldier standing against the wall. He didn’t spare me a glance. I was grateful for it, since I was only covered by my awkwardly crossed legs and Chihuahua.

  Beside the statue-soldier was a bench. And on top of it were two things; a fluffy robe and a pair of slippers.

  I was quick to slip into them. As I tugged on the robe, I glanced at the soldier. His eyes had shifted down to the freckled area around my collarbone.

  “Eyes up,” I snapped.

  He jerked back into his statue-stance, cheeks dancing with the flames of shame. Once I was wrapped up and had Cleo back in my arms, the soldier stepped forward, turned his back to me and said, “Follow me, ma’am.”

  I made a face. Ma’am?

  A snort caught in the back of my throat.

  Spine as stiff as Castle’s sense of humour, he marched out of the room where another soldier waited for us to leave before he dipped into the lobby, holding a robe and slippers. I presumed that they were for Castle.

  My soldier led me through corridors—a lot of them. A labyrinth of hallways and doors and glass rooms. It was only when we reached a narrow corridor lined with numbered doors on both sides that he stopped. Two soldiers stood guard at each end of the hallway and both spared a swift look at us.

  My escort-soldier stopped at Room 12. As he pulled out keys, I read his nametag—Mason—then watched as he unlocked the door. But he didn’t open it, not just yet.

  “Once we contact Dr Miles, she will be notified of your arrival” he said. “In the meantime, you should find all that you require through this door. Clothes are in the closet, toiletries in the attached bathroom, and a meal will be brought to you shortly.” He turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. “Your personal belongings will be returned after they pass clearance.”

  I stared inside the room—white walls, white-tiled floors, and an open white door ahead that gave a glimpse of a glass screen that I assumed to be the shower.

  My heart flipped at the sight of privacy, of running water, of my own room. Still, I couldn’t help but speak on my only source of privacy that I’d had since I first joined the defected deltas.

  “I didn’t have much, other than my diary.” I turned my gaze to his indifferent one. “That’s personal.”

  Mason hesitated a beat. Then, he inclined his head and assured, “I will relay the message to our chief of staff.”

  “Who’s that?”

  Mason let a flicker of surprise light up his cocoa eyes. Poor man was yet to learn just how nosy I am.

  He cleared his throat and raised his chin, not arrogantly, but to slip back into his soldier-costume. “Doctor Miles will be notified as soon as possible.”

  I lowered my lashes at him before I stepped into the room. The door closed behind me and—it locked.

  It might’ve been a room, but I found myself thinking of the lobby upstairs, the elevator, the glass box and the narrow corridor. All had been locked. All had been enclosed.

  And all had been masked cages.

  THE KNOCK

  ENTRY TWELVE

  The first thing I did was race to the bathroom through the white door opposite. Inside, a small shower stood behind a glass screen, a metal toilet so cold that it froze my bum was tucked in the corner, and a steel sink with one of those warped mirrors.

  As much as I wanted to, I didn’t shower. There was nothing to protect my unbandaged wound from the water. Still, I was tempted enough to step behind the glass screen and sniff the shampoos and soaps. Not unlike those at motels, I’d thought. They would do their job, but not very well.

  I washed my face in the sink, brushed my teeth a few times—I even scrubbed Cleo’s with the spare toothbrush—and inspected every inch of the room.

  In a huff with me for cleaning her teeth, Cleo curled up on the foot of the narrow bed. But her exhaustion overtook her grouchiness, and she was soon snoring. The bed was firm, layered with a flannelette blanket, a duvet and one pillow. But it was a bed—just for me.

  I was on Cloud Nine … or somewhere between clouds four and five.

  The furniture at the cabin had been comfier.

  I tried to shove those thoughts out of my mind and let some appreciation settle within me.

  The cupboard was as generous as expected. Plain sweatpants were folded at the bottom, some tank tops, underwear—for women—socks and sweaters. Everything came in white, grey and black, and were all close enough to my size that I found no reason to complain.

  A cushioned chair was tucked in the corner beside a small desk, but there were no pens or notebooks to write on, no magazines or books to read.

  Eventually, I lay with Cleo on the bed and drifted into boredom.

  The CDC was … sterile.

  There was nothing welcoming about the place. I mean, I don’t know what I’d expected, but this wasn’t it. There was nothing to do but let my mind wander and my eyes shut.

  Sometime into a half-trance of dazed thoughts, there came a knock at the door. Barely a pause passed before I heard it unlock from the outside. I sat up on the bed, my eyes suddenly alert and wide.

  The door creaked open.

  Wedges of bright light crept into the room from the gap. The door stopped a few inches open, then a mocha-skinned hand pushed through.

  Mason.

  Silent, I watched his hand place a metal box on the floor, the size of a tray. T
hen, his hand pulled back into the corridor, and the door locked again.

  I dragged myself to the door and slowly—teeth bared in a pained grimace—crouched beside the box. I flipped it open.

  Tucked inside were some supplies. A roll of cling-film (for my wound), a tin of spam, a sandwich—!!!—filled with lettuce, tomato, cheese and ham. There was a cold carton of milk, too, and a bottle of water.

  Cleo and I devoured the food. She scoffed down the spam and I gorged myself on the rest. Not a crumb was left by the time I leaned back against the wall and pulled the box between my spread legs.

  I picked through the rest of the contents until I saw it buried at the bottom.

  My diary.

  A smile came to my lips.

  Despite my itch to snatch out the diary, I plucked out the cling-film instead. Fed, hydrated and exhausted, I peeled myself off the floor and washed away the gruelling day—or months—under the steamy waterfall in the shower. Cleo licked the water at my feet a while before I scrubbed her clean, too.

  Not even the cabin’s lake gave me a sense of cleanliness like this. It was as though every grain of dirt had been scraped from my pores and my skin was replaced by new, fresh layers that hadn’t seen a speck of mud in its entire existence. My hair was smooth to the touch; no longer greasy and limp, it found its old sleekness again.

  Only when the water ran clean down the drain—with no dirt, blood or soap suds—did I turn off the tap. I’d barely dressed into sweatpants and a jumper when a thump came from the wall.

  Frozen, I stared at the wall opposite me, the one that separated my room from another’s. It thumped again, louder this time.

  Someone from my group was there, knocking.

  I knocked back.

  The coil of tension unravelled some within me.

  Even if I was alone in that room, I wasn’t alone in my sense of unease.

  DR WONG’S TOOLS OF TORTURE

  ENTRY THIRTEEN

  Sleep called to me, but I kept my drooped eyes trained on the ghastly stapled wound on my stomach. I’d been too afraid to peel off the wrap after my shower.