In my Blood

CHAPTER 47 - The Clue

We quickly move through the city, avoiding eye contact with passing people and dodging the crowds of commuting workers. No one has time for talking; everyone within the city has looks of determined urgency, a need to avoid others. They all have worry in their eyes, anxieties laced into their every movement as they snake between those around them, flinching when someone beside them coughs or even sniffs. 

I look up to the billboards, and do a double take when I lay eyes on a face. My face, printed on the vast screen on the side of a skyscraper. My (y/h/c) hair lays neatly on my shoulders, pushed back from my blank face, showing no sign of obvious emotion. I tug at the split ends of my own hair. It's definitely shorter in that picture. I look closer, seeing a slight difference in my eyebrows as they are knitted together ever so slightly, suggesting the slight hint of anger or resentment, my glossy (y/e/c) eyes narrowed ever so slightly with sadness. I read the words written underneath:

(Y/N)

PROPERTY OF WICKED

GROUP A, SUBJECT A1 - "THE CLUE"

An icy shiver runs down  my spine as I read those words. Subject. Property. Clue. What the shuck is that supposed to mean? I nudge Newt's arm, nodding to the billboard. His lips part as he reads the screen, worry filling his eyes as he pulls the face mask above his mouth and nose. 

"Put your hood up," he mutters. I do as he says, biting down on my lip as he slips his hand into mine, squeezing it warmly. I feel a flutter sway through my chest. 

"Turn left at this next street," Newt informs Brenda, glancing at the map once more before stuffing the map back into his pocket. I slow down, turning my head to my right as I see a WICKED patrol officer scanning the faces of the crowd with narrowed eyes. I look back down to my feet, praying he didn't see me, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck rise up. I begin to walk quicker through the crowd, mine and Newt's hands still gripped tightly to each other's, and let out a breath of relief when we turn the corner. 

"That was close," Newt mutters, reluctantly pulling his hand from mine. All I can do is nod in agreement, not wanting to talk. We continue to move through the city streets until it grows quieter, the streets not as busy as we see various abandoned buildings, some with signs placed over the windows or doors that read: "No access. Risk of contamination."

"These must be the homes of people thrown out of the city," Brenda comments. "I wonder who used to live here." 

We turn another corner and lay eyes on a slightly larger building with its previously white walls stained grey, and a small cross hanging above the door, the church that Gally told us to go to. We hurry across the street and go round the back, to the unlocked door Gally told us about, and hastily enter the cold church. 

Brenda shines a torch around the room, to reveal a spacious and intricately designed hall, with stained glass windows on every wall. The three of us walk around the room, inspecting it with curiosity. 

"I guess there are no lights then," Newt calls, his accented voice bouncing off the walls. "But there are candles, do we have any matches?"

"Got them here," I respond, bring out a back of matches from my rucksack. The three of us light the candles around the room, making it have an almost ghostly atmosphere. We find a table and drag a few chairs to the middle of the room, Brenda taking the surgical equipment from her bag and setting it up. We all sit down once we've finished, waiting for the boys to get back with Teresa. I feel anxiety bubble in my stomach, the bitter taste of bile seeping into my throat. I swallow it down, clearing my mind as nausea fills my body. 

I hear Brenda softly laughing to herself. Me and Newt both look to her in confusion, but she just shakes her head. 

"Sorry. It just seems so ironic, being in a church when all this is happening. As if there's a God who would protect us now," she laughs bitterly again, rolling her eyes.