AllFreeNovel
Share Us
No one wanted to research on how to help the infected. Some cared about looking for a vaccine, but most people in power were simply focused on eradicating all of the infected humans as quickly and efficiently as possible.
The infected have been written off as a lost cause, and yet they remain. In fact, since the infected seem to be almost supernaturally resilient, they will likely remain after thousands (millions or even billions??) – more of us have died.
Nova lives in an old farmhouse, set up to be off the grid and far out in an unpopulated forest. That was one of my motivations for moving in with her since it’s so far from civilization where the infected congregate.
The other reason is because Nova is a wildlife animal rehabilitator, and she has a few opossums in her care. This is especially relevant because opossums are completely immune to every form of lyssavirus.
So far, only the great apes – including humans, gorillas, and chimps – appear to be susceptible to the genotype-8, unlike the other forms of lyssavirus that can infect most mammals. Yet, the opossum is immune across the board.
I am not a virologist, unfortunately, but I gathered as many books, research, and equipment as I could before I fled my brief stint at the government quarantine. Nova’s expertise is in animal medicine, but considering our main hope involves studying a North American marsupial, she will be of a great help.
Today I have arrived at her farmhouse, and today we begin our research.
13
Lazlo
At some point, I must’ve passed out, because I awoke with my face pressed against the concrete floor and a spider walking across my arm.
It looked like a wolf spider, with brown fur and black stripes across its back, but it was massive, with a fat abdomen and legs stretching out several inches.
When I was a kid, I’d had a pet tarantula named Damien. We’d lived in an apartment, and my mother had horrible allergies, so the spider had been one of the few pets I was allowed. But I probably would’ve chosen him anyway. Damien wasn’t cuddly, but he was sweet and seemed to like me.
“Do you want to hang out and be Damien, Jr?” I asked as the spider walked languidly across the tattoos on my forearm.
He didn’t reply, but he didn’t run away, so I took that as a good sign. I didn’t know how long I would be down here, and having something – anything – that resembled a friend would help to pass the time.
Abruptly, there was a loud thumping upstairs, hard enough that dust fell from the open rafters, and that startled my new spider friend into making a mad dash for the shadows. Not that I blamed him. I would do the same if I could.
The loud noises upstairs only exacerbated my already pounding head, and I sat up slowly.
A door swung open above the slatted stairs on the far side of the room, and warm morning sunlight slipped in through the cracks. The woman’s heavy boots clomped down the steps, and I sat up straighter, trying to look stronger than I felt.
Her long black hair hung around her face like a curtain, and she glowered down at me as she carried the bottle of water over.
“How are you feeling today?” she asked, still holding the water out of my reach.
“Just peachy,” I lied, because I would say and do anything to get that water from her.
“Thirsty?”
“Yes,” I said desperately and started crawling towards her, when she held up her hand.
“Wait until I put it down before coming over,” she commanded, so I stopped. She carefully set it down, then stepped backward out of my possible grasp, and then I hurriedly crawled over to it.
“You’re not walking yet,” she commented as I gulped it down. “So you’re not entirely peachy.”
“I’m starving and sleeping on a concrete floor, of course I feel like shit,” I told her when I stopped drinking long enough to take a breath.
“Don’t lie to me. It’s not helpful,” she said flatly. “When I ask you how you feel, you have to be honest.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to betray the captor-captive bond,” I replied glibly. “I’ll try to remember that for next time, Sage.”
Her dark eyes instantly narrowed at me, and her blank expression hardened. “What did you call me?”
“Sage,” I repeated. “Isn’t that you? Sage Boone, MD.”
“How in the hell do you know that name?” she demanded, and her gaze darted around the room, to where the box was tipped over at the edge of my range. “Have you been going through my things?”
