Positive: The Tannellith Trilogy: Book 1

By R. G. Brown and S. A. Brown

Empty streets. Unnamed graves. A fatal virus. No remedy. Hope is fading. The entire province of Senneforte has been destroyed after the Maraloxis Virus broke out, leaving fourteen-year-old Eleanora and her friends to try and find a cure to save their families, all the while trapped within the crumbling province.

As the entire country falls

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.G. Brown
• Release date: May 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798988359418

Book preview

Positive

R.G. Brown

Contents

Title Page

Positive

The Tannellith Trilogy: Book 1

-To all those who ever felt hopeless-

CONTENTS

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

48

49

epilogue

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Positive

The Tannellith Trilogy: Book 1

R. G. Brown

Copyright © 2023 R. G. Brown

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 979-8-9883594-1-8

Copyright © 2023 by R.G. Brown.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact R.G. Brown at [e-mail].

Scripture quotations are from The ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, and events mentioned in this story are fictional or used fictitiously.

Cover art by S.A. Brown

Illustrations by R. G. Brown

1st edition 2023

ISBN: 979-8-9883594-1-8

-To all those who ever felt hopeless-

CONTENTS

For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. 

Romans 8:24-25

1

Eleanora: Capture

A vivid array of pictures sprawls the wall in front of me, a mere specter of a past life, resurrecting distant memories of times before the Maraloxis Virus broke out. Each image captures the bliss of an instant, a fragile moment, only to soon dissolve from the powerful chemical of reality. It was just a year ago when my brother and I would race out to the yard of our colonial-style house after school, carefree as we spent hours imagining beyond the limits of this world until our mother would call us inside just as the sun drifted behind the trees, causing rays of sunlight to paint images on the grass. Happy memories, yet they still incite heartache. Outside, daybreak bleeds into the sky and paints pinks and reds on the horizon in a brilliant display of morning.  

A soft pattering on the hallway’s hardwoods alerts me to the presence of a rat cowering outside the door frame of my bedroom. It analyzes the surroundings, and I watch until I remember it’s a potentially rabid creature traipsing through my house and slam the door shut. I’m not thinking clearly, but I’ve been deprived of much human contact for such a long time, the occasional reminder that I’m not the only living being is comforting. I hear the rodent scurry away behind the door, the soft sound of its footfalls echoing throughout the empty, bereft home. At first, the invasion of creatures and insects bothered me, but I’ve gotten somewhat used to the disturbing prospect that mice occasionally steal portions of my meals and ants frequent the kitchen. Animals are flourishing in the remnants of the Virus, and they aren't the cute kind. Rats, mice, and carrion birds haunt the province of Senneforte. Rodents easily slink into my countryside house, especially with the broken window in the living room, which I was going to tape up, but I’m afraid it could give away my secrecy.

My gaze falters on a single photo, the most recent one on my wall. I rise from my bed, tracing the seasonal frame with my hand. The ink seems dull, or maybe my memory just paints it much more lucidly. My mother and father stand behind us, with my brother, Isaiah, and me in front. The leaves on the trees had changed to perfect, picturesque reds and yellows and had begun to fall. Isaiah and I chased each other around the beautiful park on the bank of Lake Superior while our parents just let us be kids. At twelve and thirteen, our minds were free in the make-believe, childish world that would soon be forever distorted by the changing reality.  

Although it was only a year ago, it seems like a whole different lifetime. Pictures and bittersweet memories are all I have left of my family, for now, at least.

Bang.

Submerged in my mind, the pounding on the front door doesn’t register soon enough. The sound echoes through the house like a blaring alarm, instigating an immediate adrenaline rush. Even though I've prepared for this for months and been through the experience once already, my mind goes horribly blank. Hurriedly, I rip the pictures down, shove them in my backpack then crawl under my bed and tuck myself as close to the wall as possible. I hug the backpack to my chest, the hardwood floor cool against my skin, trying to detect what’s happening outside my room.

The crash of breaking glass resounds, interrupted by a thud and creaking; one of them opens the door. Thundering footsteps follow as two or maybe three people storm into the house, searching for anyone who remains, or pillaging the homes of those who have been found. They’re looking for me.

It’s the Mordolus, an army-like group of volunteers devoted to our Queen, Morzanna. The Mordolus formed after the Virus erupted in an attempt to order the madness that ensued. I want something to occupy my mind and give me some purpose during this time as well, but my morals would never allow me to align with the Queen.

I shouldn’t have wasted time taking down my pictures—I could have gotten to a more sufficient hiding spot. Then again, their presence might very well have given away mine.

I hold my breath as one of them treads into my room, reading the vibrations of the floor until they stop inches away. Time ceases to advance as I stare at the rim of black boots, scrutinizing the red insignia of a cursive M that I've come to despise. A snowstorm of icy fear brews in my heart, leaving me frozen and rigid. It seems like years go by before he stoops down. I squeeze my eyes shut, and the next few seconds are a blur. I’m ripped from the safety under my bed and abruptly lifted to my feet by a strong gloved grip. 

Found someone else! he calls to the other members, who rush into my bedroom. They’re all clothed in mainly black uniforms, stitched with deep red designs and fringed with silver accents. Behind their elaborate leather face masks, all I can see are their eyes—every one of them wears a blank, cold stare. I clench my fists to hopefully prevent them from shaking. 

Why are you hiding? my captor asks fiercely, holding onto my arm in a firm grasp. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. After failing to yank myself away, I settle with an intense glare.

​I don’t know, I reply, fighting to keep my voice level. "I’d rather not be abducted." 

​We’re trying to help you, I’m informed, though his tone warns me otherwise. 

​News to me, I say acidicly, shrugging despite the tension in my shoulders.

You take her back, I’ll check the other houses, he says to the other member, trading me off.

I’m shoved out of my room, into the living area, and dragged toward the front door. I dig my heels into the ground like a stubborn steed and grasp my backpack tightly. A van is parked along the road outside, bearing the Queen’s symbol, the same one that’s embroidered onto the Mordolus uniforms. After forcing me into the backseat, the kidnapper I was left with gets in the front and locks the doors. The cold leather makes me uncomfortable, and bars between the driver and me give the illusion that I’m headed to jail for a crime. The driver tosses me a simple fabric face mask and orders me to put it on. I obey, but I’m hyperventilating so much that I instantly feel like I’m suffocating and rip it off the second he’s not paying attention. A frenzy of wild emotion swarms inside me, and I slowly twirl a strand of my blond hair, holding onto my backpack and sinking into the back seat. 

The same thing happened to my brother. I wasn’t in the house at the time but saw it happen, nonetheless. During the past few months, Isaiah and I would always hide when we heard the Mordolus approaching. Anticipating that soon we may be in danger of abduction, our parents took extreme measures to try and secure our fading safety. We were forbidden from leaving the house to protect ourselves from contracting the Virus and to keep us safe from the Mordolus. Few days elapsed that my brother and I didn’t spend hidden in the attic or a closet as our rural neighborhood was left virtually vacant. Our mother is a pharmacist and continued working even after the lockdown, and our father helped her despite the regulations. People still needed medications, especially to try to treat the new disease, but the day came that our parents didn’t return home. It was only weeks later that Isaiah was seized as well. There’s no doubt where this Mordolus member is taking me. 

When the outbreak first began, we were told to take minor precautions, since most cases proved harmless. But soon it came out that the Virus was extremely fatal and highly contagious, with little justification for their error other than the disease’s longer prognosis and subtler symptoms. This lethal and elusive illness is called the Maraloxis Virus, and almost everyone in our province of Senneforte has been infected within a short time. No one knows the origin of the Virus, and the government authorities don’t appear to be looking into it. Queen Morzanna told us there is no discovered remedy, and she’s searched extensively for one, but nothing was found. This news brought country-wide pandemonium. Morzanna, to help the crisis, made a few controversial decisions, one of them being the formation of the out-of-control Mordolus in lieu of our military. 

A few years ago, the Queen was put in power over our country, Willowmire, after the death of her father. In that short time, the government has undergone drastic changes. Morzanna has almost half the vote in everything, and the rest is divided among the delegates from Willowmire’s five provinces. Unless all the delegates agree, nothing can transpire federally without Morzanna’s consent. The Queen hasn’t done anything blatantly wrong, but that could reflect a separate issue since we haven’t heard much from her concerning the Virus in a long time. Although, I’m unsure if without a cure anything can be done. Not much was or is known about the new Queen, especially since the Virus has captured everyone's attention indefinitely. 

I gaze out the window at the hundreds of newly dug graves—graveyards that were once parks and fields—casualties of the Virus. Senneforte has been practically destroyed, and it’s sobering to recall what it used to look like merely months ago. 

Along the rural road, pine boughs sway gingerly in the weak August wind; white pines were once the state tree of Michigan, that is, when it was a state. Nearly forty years ago, there was unrest due to the individual states not agreeing with the federal law on civil issues and religious rights, and it resulted in a total division of the United States. After ten years of political turmoil and fights, the country was finally divided over the issue. It was a civil war, although it consisted primarily of constant, intense political debates. Most of the states split into individual countries, and some, like Alaska, joined existing ones. Wisconsin and Virginia are complete anarchies, and most people have fled those broken places. Ever since the Separative War, all the states became independent and were put under new governments and names. Michigan was split into two separate countries: Willowmire and Erigate. Willowmire used to be known as the upper peninsula and still is in casual settings. Erigate was once the lower peninsula of Michigan. Our province of Senneforte, the second largest of the five provinces, aside from Ellismark, is roughly from old Alger to Iron.

Despite my prayers that we will never arrive, we turn down the dreaded road, only three miles from my home. They're taking me to be tested for the Maraloxis Virus. My family have all contracted the illness—well, I assume that’s the case since they never returned, leaving me on my own in this tragic new life.

My childhood friend, Graydon, and I have been trying to develop a cure, however impossible that may be. Once our parents were gone, it was evident there were few civilians left healthy, so Isaiah and I made the decision to leave the safety of our house and help Graydon, whose parents were captured as well, and attempt to find an antidote. I have to believe one exists and hope that I’m negative because Graydon and I need to keep working. We haven’t gotten very far, but over the past few weeks, we’ve at least made progress. I hope it’s not too late for us.

Anyone who tests positive will be kept in the Infirmary, where all patients stay for a few weeks or a few months until they eventually die, to stop the spread and to supposedly treat them as best they can. It’s only been four months since the first cases in Senneforte, and Graydon is the only person I know who hasn’t been captured and taken to be evaluated. In the beginning, people willingly went to be tested, but after we realized we’d be locked away, everyone hid and the Mordolus began forcefully extracting people. 

But perhaps a cure does exist. 

I'm broken from my thoughts as we pull into the dreary parking lot outside the Infirmary where testing takes place. Peering through the window, I scowl at the infamous building. There's a large gate as we drive in and the entirety is fenced. 

The driver gets out and opens the door. I contemplate running, but I quickly smother the thought; it would be nearly impossible with all the people around. For me, attempting escape will be inevitable, but I’m not stupid enough to try anything yet. 

The Infirmary is a huge, two-story building. It seems to go on for miles and reminds me of an abandoned warehouse from the outside, causing my heart to drop knowing it is filled with the dying. I stare at the line of people waiting outside and pull my shirt over my face, regretting leaving my mask behind. Afflicted with chills, overt paleness, and lethargic behavior, these people are clearly sick. Some of them even rub their hands together; a way to temporarily abate the paresthesic pains caused by the Virus in its latter stages. Even if I'm fortunate enough to be negative, I'll certainly contract it from being around these people. The driver walks me to the end of the line of about twenty people. My suspicions grow. So, the Mordolus constantly come in contact with the infected, and none of them have contracted the illness? I don't believe it. Even though they wear protective outfits and gloves, they still run a huge risk of infection. Many of them must be sick, and what does the Queen do with them? Why would they all sacrifice their health and possibly lives for whatever the Queen offers them? Or maybe they actually think the Infirmary is humane. It might be if it wasn’t so strict and tyrannical.

My family may have already been lost to the Virus. With the deaths rising each day, and zero contact with them, how do I know how they’re doing? The life expectancy of this disease is up to four months, and they've been gone for two, so I still hope.

The line shrinks as person after person is dragged inside the Infirmary doors. The testing takes a while, twenty minutes per person, and I watch hopefully for the well to be released, but it seems the Virus is even more prevalent than I had thought.

Digging through my backpack, I take out my phone and check again to see if, by any chance, someone other than Graydon found a way to contact me. Perhaps a friend or family member who could come to Senneforte’s aid?

I'm shocked and slightly overwhelmed to see there's a text.

It's from Isaiah.

2

Graydon: The Maraloxis virus

I grab my backpack off the kitchen counter and sling it onto my shoulders. I open the back door. From the step, I take in a deep breath of cool summer-morning air. I lock the door and shove the key in my pocket, hopping down from the stoop. The gravelly ground revolts against my attempt to be quiet. Pausing, I check the surroundings of the ghosted neighborhood. Overgrown grass and shrubs surround the yard and block most of my view. A docile breeze rolls through a row of tall pine trees on my right. I head down the street toward the laboratory. 

The trip is short from my new house. After my parents were captured, our home was destroyed. Burned. Another of the Mordolus’s endeavors to eradicate the Virus. So, I chose somewhere closer to the lab. 

I take a shortcut through the forest. It’s best to stay off the roads. Pine needles and dry oak leaves crackle beneath my feet. Brambles claw at my clothing and leave my skin looking like I was in a fight with a feral cat and lost. I pay close attention to where I step so I don’t end up walking through stinging nettles again. That’s not something I want a rerun of. I spend way too long concentrating on the ground and walk into an occupied spider web. Nice.

Eleanora and I have been trying to complete a cure using the information given by my dad. He's a biotechnician and worked at a laboratory with a few other scientists to find a remedy for the Maraloxis Virus. They were only a few steps from finishing what could have potentially been an antidote when one of the scientists tested positive.

They worked closely with and received projects and funds from our government. Despite trying to keep the outbreak a secret, the Queen found out. Due to their ‘safety’, and even after a lot of persuasion, Queen Morzanna refused to let them continue. I had to help my dad break into his own lab and extract the medicine. It made everything real. Shortages in preventatives and disease protection caused issues. People were out of work, schools closed, and eventually everything—literally everything—shut down. Hospitals closed and patients had to be transferred somewhere else by family fast or they’d be kicked out, people who needed medicine couldn’t get it, and food was in critical shortage. Senneforte was getting sick and there was nothing to do but run to Morzanna for help. She disbanded our small military and replaced it with the Mordolus. Because of Willowmire’s loose ties with the other surrounding countries, help didn’t show up soon enough. Or ever. We’re on the brink of war with Erigate, the lower peninsula, over mainly government, property rights, and old wounds from the division. We used to be one state, and now we can’t cross each other’s borders. Some people tried to leave Willowmire for Erigate, but I don’t think they welcomed our possibly infected refugees. That left only Infrethia, the dangerous, abandoned anarchy of Wisconsin. It’s rumored all the convicts that were released in the wake of the Separative War lurk in Infrethia to escape their punishment.

​After the attacks on September 11, 2001, fear, division, conflict, and panic were violently stirred up. The government fell apart. States fought against each other, blamed each other, and preexisting disagreements arose. Eventually, the safest decision was to separate. The United States were no longer united; they were enemies. No one would have guessed that the actions of a few people could ruin one of the markedly strongest countries in history. To this day some of the states and cities still have hate, like Willowmire and Erigate. That’s what fear does. That’s what hopelessness does. It destroys. It divides. It corrupts. And that’s what happened in the Separative War. Forty years have passed, and our world’s still broken. Morzanna instilled a few debatable peace-related laws including regulated borders, the full ban and confiscation of firearms, and plans to deal with Infrethia. Then she unleashed the Mordolus. 

After the laboratory locked down, I helped my dad. I learned a lot in those few days leading up to my dad’s forced test. Mom was taken around the same time. My best friend Isaiah wasn’t there to help me for long. After Isaiah’s capture, his sister Eleanora and I were left to complete the antidote. She’s fourteen, and I’m fifteen. With just a confusing combination of chemicals and some notes, we haven’t gotten very far. I don’t think we’ll finish it. We don’t even know if it would work. No one would have blamed us if we never even attempted to keep searching. Few have hope for a solution.

I trudge up to the makeshift lab, less than a mile away in the same suburban neighborhood. A big red ‘X’ marks the doorframe of each house that’s been emptied. Usually, either windows are shattered, or the door is broken in. I climb up the front steps. The storm door here was smashed but the wooden one’s intact. When I try the handle, it’s still locked. I apprehensively take out my key and open it. As I step inside, I don’t like the silence. 

Eleanora should be here by now. I tiptoe through the wrecked living room and open the garage door. The tables are still set up with all our supplies. Nothing looks wrong.

Ele? I call out suspiciously. Instantly, I have the strange intuition that something’s up. Something bad.

After I get no response, I check all the other rooms. Empty. I run a westward block to Ele’s house. Sticking near the trees to keep hidden, I follow the familiar road. I’m not as cautious as I should be. 

Hilly fields and forests reach out until they touch the mountains in the distance. I run down the road, Gilded Way, and approach the familiar colonial home. I trip over the out-of-control rose briars, stumble up the back steps, and wrench open the sliding-glass door.

I can see straight through the house. The front door is wide open. 

Ele? I say. Eleanora? 

The house gives off a sinister feeling. The wind whimpers through the busted window, crying the story of whatever occurred here to cause the emptiness. I try to convince myself that the muddy footprints that dance around the hardwood floors don’t necessarily mean what I think they mean. I don’t really believe my rationalization.

I text Ele. Thankfully, I still can; communication with anyone outside the province is blocked. Every time I’ve tried to contact a relative or friend outside Senneforte, it says undelivered. There’s a cell tower somewhere that works since the Mordolus need a way to communicate as well, and we’re lucky for that. 

Anger ignites inside me. I hate the Mordolus. But…maybe we should have been more careful. Maybe I could have found Ele somewhere safer to stay. Maybe I’ve been too careless. Maybe this is my fault. 

I close the front door and sit inside on the bottom stair, ready to give up. But I have to keep trying. For my parents. For Isaiah. For everyone. I wish there was something to hope in other than myself.

I ban myself from using the word maybe. It’s a dumb term anyway. I decide to head back to the lab and try to get some work done. At least going to the lab will distract me.

The Mordolus is split into three main groups; the guards, the nurses and doctors, and the Hunters. The Hunters are especially savage and search the province for any untested civilians, then bring them to the Infirmary. Afterward, they raid houses and buildings. 

They’ll be back to clear the house eventually. But I can at least prevent that. I search Ele’s room until I find her paint box, retrieving some red. I take a paintbrush and boldly mark the front door. Unless the Mordolus go on an arson spree, the house should be safe. 

I step outside and survey the dead street. This is how it is now. Constant kenopsia and loneliness.

I pass an open field on my way back. Trees line the right side and dead grass mingles with the red clay. It gives me a good view of the towering wall in the distance, a constant reminder that one cannot escape the province. The fence is a recent addition. I don’t know what it’s for, but there’s no getting beyond it, especially since it’s guarded—maybe from both sides. 

On the other side of the wall is Ellismark. That’s where Solstice Keep, the Queen’s fortress, is located. It used to belong to King Cyrus Nixon. He was a good king but died from a sudden heart attack a few years ago. Later at his funeral, his adopted daughter Morzanna claimed the rule. 

Just as I arrive at the lab, I get a text from Ele. I was right. She has been captured. If she's positive, they’ll keep her forever, just like my parents. The reality sinks in that now with Ele gone, I’m on my own. 

I have to finish the cure. If not, both our families will die.

3

Eleanora: Positive

After glancing over my shoulder, I click on the message from my brother, excitement trickling down to my quivering hands. I haven't heard anything from my family in a long time, and it seems unreal. This message could entail such a great number of things that my emotions are already going haywire.

Hey Ele! How’s it going? I stole my phone back today. We’re okay, just hurry w the cure. Are you okay? Love u, gtg. Text back. 

​I type a quick response to make my brother aware of my situation. My family is okay for now, which gives me just enough hope that I begin thinking. 

I have to escape now before they lock me up. I’ll try anything because, really, what’s the worst that could happen? The wire gate isn’t going to work since it’s currently locked and guarded by two probably armed Mordolus soldiers. The fence is most likely my only option, and I bite my lip, searching for apertures I could escape through. 

The chain link barrier stands seven feet high, at least, steadily enclosing the entire parking lot and a portion of grassy field. On the other side is the graveyard, which is obviously pretty empty of any life right now. The fence looks very secure, but maybe I can climb it. Surveying the area, I note that none of the Mordolus seem to be watching me at the moment. 

Then I run. The sharp, uncut grass stings my legs, leaving behind tiny lacerations as I hurtle toward the fence. Everyone watches me, and I force myself not to look back again so I can focus on sprinting. If I can get over the fence, I can head toward the woods and find my way home from there.

Reaching the barrier, I hurriedly place my foot on a rock and hop to grasp the top of the enclosure. Raw fence wire rips into my hands, but I try to ignore it and risk a glance behind me. The guards totally noticed and are heading toward me; they already know the ending to this story, but I’m still aiming to rewrite it. My shoes keep sliding off the chain fencing, and my thin arms can’t pull me up fast enough. A wave of defeat subdues me as two hands clamp around my waist and haul me down. I scream, emotion boiling in my stomach, and the guard, who I recognize from the house earlier, yells at me for my attempt. He drags me back, and I, chagrined at my failure, violently kick.

Everyone stares and murmurs as I saunter back into line, arms crossed and glaring. My chest stirs with disappointment, regret, and the realization of my stupidity. My wrists throb from getting yanked from the fence so abruptly.

Eventually everyone forgets about the event, except me. I’m upset and a tiny bit embarrassed because I probably looked like a little kid throwing a tantrum. Tired of standing so long, I plop down on the ground, holding my backpack in my lap. I pull out my phone, and two text notifications light up the screen. One is from Isaiah, and the other is from Graydon, which I read first. 

Where are you? I went to your house. You okay? 

I ridicule myself for not texting Graydon earlier and quickly respond.

I'm okay. They stormed the house. I’m waiting to get tested. It may be a while, and if you don't hear from me, then keep working on the project and assume they’ve taken me in. I’m sorry.

Isaiah’s message is less encouraging than his first but gives me more insight on what might be occurring.

​If you get out, keep working on finding a cure. We’re losing time. I know you and Graydon can figure it out just hurry. I’ll try to find you.

Maybe Queen Morzanna is right and being honest about this disease. I hope we’re not wasting time trying to complete the remedy. The last thing I want to do is squander my family’s final days away from them on some lunatic mission. But if it could save their lives, it’s worth the weighty risk.

Two small children chase each other around the parking lot, giggling carelessly, unaware of the danger that could soon destroy every grain of their happiness. Their mother holds another younger child, watching from her place in line right behind me, pain and sorrow etched deeply in her grave expression.

My cheeks are flushed as the sun’s blistering rays beat down upon me. It feels like hardly any time has passed yet at the same time I’ve waited so long. Either way, I’m next in line. The gravity of the situation weighs heavy, and my rib cage feels full of rocks. A table cluttered with paperwork and trays containing hundreds of fresh syringes and other testing instruments is covered by a wooden overhanging beside the Infirmary entrance. I find myself standing in front of the table with the woman asking for my name. Lightheaded, I place a hand on the table to steady myself. 

Eleanora Brooks, I say, standing up straighter. The middle-aged woman does everything in a numb manner as if she isn’t about to tell someone whether or not they’ll live, and I grit my teeth. I give her my age and answer a few more questions about my exposure to the Virus. She writes some of it on her paper and eventually beckons me closer, reaching for one of the needles. 

She seizes my wrist and jabs it into my forearm, sending a shock of pain spreading all the way down to my fingertips. The nurse draws my blood, taking far more than seems necessary. Relieved when it's over, I watch her immediately empty the syringe into a small jar. Another of the staff members brings something that looks akin to one of those devices they prick your finger with and places it on my bare shoulder. It’s pretty painless, leaving a blue-hued pinprick on my aching arm; a way to tell whether someone’s been tested or not. The color depends on which month you are tested. At first, they were red; then in June, green; then purple; and August is apparently a stark shade of royal blue. If we ever survive this, there are going to be thousands of people with small permanent marks inked on their shoulders.

The nurse mixes my blood with some bronzy solution, replaces the lid on the small, clear container, and shakes it up. She tells me it will take a few minutes for the results of my Maraloxis Virus test, the thing that will determine the course of my life—or end it. I tuck a lock of blond hair behind my ear as my eyes drift over the hundreds of completed tests lying in a discard box beyond the table—very few negative blood-red ones mingled among the positives that are a sickly green. I try to count them but eventually tear my gaze away, hating the overwhelming superiority of the green-tinted ones. I turn back to the woman, harrowing anxiety settling over my restless insides. Hysteria builds like a vicious tempest within me, and I freeze as my eyes fall on the viridescent liquid in her hand. 

Positive.

4

Isaiah: The infirmary

​I walk down the white hallway. Turning the corner, I head toward the door. The narrow halls and glossy floors are like an ordinary hospital. Everything here in the Infirmary is white, bright, but gloomy at the same time. It's way crowded too. When I reach the door, the sign posted on it reads, Do not enter. Signs like that only make me more likely to enter. It’s not just insurrection. Well, not all the time. It’s mostly curiosity and necessity. I take a deep breath and reach for the handle. Glancing around the hall, I push open the door. Light floods in, chasing away the darkness inside the room. The smell of alcohol and latex hits me immediately. Multiple filing cabinets line the walls. Lists of names and ID papers tower on a desk in the corner of the small, square office-like room. I turn on the light and quietly pull the door shut. A door to my left is labeled Storage. In the back of the room is another. I leaf through some of the papers scattered on the desk in front of me. I open the top drawer. Pages are haphazardly thrown in and sprawled with black ink. I rummage through them until something catches my eye. A note, handwritten in red. I pull out the piece of paper and read the sloppy writing. Pass- 4138.

​I instinctively slam the drawer shut. Voices echo outside the door. I rush to turn the light off. I stuff the paper in my pocket and crawl under the tall wooden desk.

The door in the back opens. I hold my breath. Please don’t let anyone find me, I pray. A man dressed in white ambles in. I resist the urge to inch closer to the wall and don’t move. Briefly, the man stops to sort through some papers and puts on a face mask and gloves. Then he walks out the other door to the hallway. 

After a few uneasy minutes, I leave my hiding spot. I walk to the back door. It’s solid and metal. Digging a small, rusted key from my pocket, I unlock the door.

Endless rows of cardboard boxes line the spacious, bland room. They’re filled with people's confiscated belongings: phones, bags, books, pictures, and more. Thankfully, it’s alphabetically organized. I immediately head to the B section. After a while of searching through the mess, I find my phone near the bottom of the eighth box. I grab a random phone charger from one of the other bins. I plug it into an outlet across the storeroom.

I wait nervously. Someone could come anytime now. Eventually the device turns on. Fifty-three unread messages. I scroll through them. They're almost all from Ele.

Isaiah?

Are you okay?

I miss you

How are mom and dad?

I love you.

I check the dates I got them. The most recent is August second. That was just two days ago. There are also a few texts from Graydon.

I’ve been here a good ten minutes and started to get antsy. I pocket the charger and take my phone, leaving the stolen key on the floor in the walkway so it looks like someone dropped it. I jog back through the first room and into the hallway. I wind my way through the corridors of the Infirmary. My room is on the second story, so I open the door to the stairwell and climb the wide, long staircase.

I shouldn’t be able to sneak around this easily. I've done it enough though that I’ve gotten good. It’s simple to get lost in the crowd. There are so many captives here. Section One houses five thousand. There are three of these. I’ve never even been to the others since they're blocked off and separate. If someone gets transferred to another section, you can bet you’ll never see them again. 

I arrive at my room. It’s pretty empty but so small it’s crowded. The furniture has almost all been taken from residential homes. Of the two beds in the room, mine is cheap, sturdy, and metal, while the other is a rickety old wooden-framed twin. There’s a single chair in the corner, and one small window near the ceiling. You can see the field-turned-cemetery next to the Infirmary from there. We’re lucky to have a window at all, but I try not to look out of it often. 

What's that? Reece asks. He’s my roommate. Reece is younger than me by more than a year, but honestly, it’s not noticeable because he’s nearly the same height as me. He’s tall for his age, and I’m barely average for mine. Reece puts down his pen and jumps up from the lonely chair.

I found it, I answer. He snatches my phone and inspects it. 

Yeah, you just found it, Reece says. His pale green eyes flash with suspicion as he hands back the phone. He goes back to writing on the wall nearest the door. Reece does that a lot. I’m not sure if it’s to be rebellious, or because he likes to. Either way, he’s covered almost a whole wall with a variety of short stories, poems, and other ramblings. It definitely annoys the Infirmary staff, but they don’t do anything. They don’t have time to. The writings really aren’t hurting anything.

Don’t think I didn’t notice you leave earlier looking especially up-to-something-you-shouldn’t-be, Reece comments. For twelve, Reece is unusually observant. Sometimes annoyingly observant. So, where’d you ‘find’ it? 

Somewhere I shouldn’t have been, I admit.

You snuck into the Belongings Place? Reece asks immediately. And didn’t tell me? 

I nod, rubbing my forehead. I’d never even had a headache until the Infirmary. I get them all the time now. That’s my only major symptom so far. 

Reece raises an eyebrow and goes back to writing. I bet you didn’t even check for cameras. Or sensors. Wait, what’d you do with the key? Where’d you get the key anyway? he asks. Did you steal it? When are you going to teach me pickpocketing? 

I taught myself how to steal things when I was younger. I practiced on my sister and classmates. I usually returned what I took, but I still got a lot of thou shall not steal lectures. Reece has been begging me to teach him.

Probably never, I say. It’s not a good habit. Maybe I won’t have to take things here soon anyway. 

Because we’ll be dead? Reece asks blankly. I look at him, concerned. I’m joking, he adds. 

No, because we’re going to figure something out. Ele will finish the cure, I respond. 

I hope so, Reece says. 

The screen of my phone flashes, alerting me to a text from Ele. 

After reading it, I'm super happy she's okay. A desire to leave the Infirmary burns inside me. I sigh and take out the paper I found earlier. I turn it over and then put it inside my phone case. We aren’t really allowed to have paper, so they might wonder if they find it lying around. It’s a passcode to something. Maybe it’s important.

I glance at the time on my phone. It’s almost two. I hide my phone behind my pillow and start toward the door.

"Where are you going now?" Reece asks, jumping up. 

To meet my parents, I reply.

Let me come with you! Reece begs. I’m dying of boredom. 

It’s not safe, I point out. Reece shrinks. He fidgets and stares at the floor.

I know. It’s not far though, he says slowly. 

Okay, if you want to. I have to tell them about the text from Ele, I say. 

You got a text from Ele? Reece asks, surprised. He knows a lot about her because we’ve talked to only each other for weeks.