Visage | ONC 2023

TEN:

Riley is scared of me.

My eyes fluttered open as I stared up at the ceiling of a white room. My body was sore but not as bad as the back of my head. It felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my skull.

Even if this cure works, will she look at me the same?

Groaning, I raised my hands to rub my face, only to find I was attached to an IV. I groggily looked at it as I shined it in the light.

Did they take what they needed?

"Hey." Gerry dropped into a chair beside my bed. I slowly moved my gaze to him. His brows pinched together as he stared at me. "You did good, kid."

I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut. I tried to remember what had happened. There were bits and pieces in my mind, but it felt loose, messy, and out of order.

I knew I saw Riley. I remembered the look in her eyes. The terrified crowd behind her. Yet, once I changed and mutated, everything combined and meshed in my head. And I needed to know—"Did I hurt Riley?"

Gerry covered his mouth, raising his brows as he looked at me without saying a word.

Balancing myself on my elbows, I half sat up. "Did I hurt her?" I repeated.

Gerry lowered his head and sighed, but lifted just his gaze to look at me. "You scared her that's for sure, but no, you didn't hurt her."

I breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing I wanted to happen was that I took the chance of exposing myself only to hurt her. I'd die.

Worst case scenario hadn't happened. "So, we're smooth sailing?"

He nodded. "We are. Mertz and his team have stabilized desired reactions."

"Already?" I sat up and rubbed my face. "It's been, what, a few hours?"

Gerry blinked at me. His eyes slowly panned around the room before he sat back. A low chuckle slipped out of him. "It's been days, Axel. Days."

Days? No, it couldn't be. It had to have been hours. I saw Riley, I changed, and Mertz and his team scooped me up. I was still wearing the—oh, I wasn't in the same clothes.

I passed my hands over a white tee with gold trim.

"Jonathan's clothes really fit you." Gerry smiled.

Lifting my gaze, I met Gerry's softened gaze. "What made you..." I passed. I wasn't sure how to phrase the question. How could you ask about the death of a young man? Gerry had done it; he told me so himself. That was a topic that could never heal. It would always be a fresh wound.

"What made me kill my son?"

I gulped. I didn't have to ask. He was going to tell me. So, I nodded.

He sighed. "We didn't always know about how this infection worked. Jonathan got sick like everyone else, and then..." He shrugged, gaze passing off to the side. "He started changing. It would be after hanging out with his friends, but he'd come home covered in blood, in pain, whispering weird things."

Gerry closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. "One night he didn't change back."

"Your son stayed," I looked at my hands and stretched my fingers, "a zombie?"

Gerry nodded.

"We can stay that way?"

"If you come in contact enough, yeah." He relaxed his arms on his knees. "Turned out Jonathan and his friends thought it would be cool to cross the wall. Each of them changed, too, some slower than others."