In February of 2028 the Centers for Disease Control made the announcement that an
unknown virus was sweeping the country. At this time my hair was long and often braided and
now it hangs freely upon my shoulders, barely reaching beyond.
I’m leaning on a concrete wall on the top floor of an unfinished building in the city. Next
to me is my best friend and he’s nearly falling over. I’ve known him since junior high and now we
are both at Northeastern but that was before it started. Our hands are both painted red and he is
holding a switchblade. My revolver has its safety on for the first time this week.
It was first seen as a normal disease spread via respiratory transmission but before the
fall we learned of its intricacies. It operates in a hivemind, taking over its targets and making
their eyes permanently roll back in their heads. From here it hungers for anything to keep its
hosts alive, any type of food. Many animals have gone nearly extinct in the four years it has
been active because they’re the easy targets. But for the city-dwelling subjects, our species is
all they’ve got.
I’m sitting next to this guy because we were on the run and he is going to succumb to the
sickness any minute now. We ran through the streets and used all our molotovs and even the
bombs we traded so much for. Made it to the building and high ground but they chased us and
started piling up and we lost so much tearing that down. A few stragglers made it and we got
into a scramble where one pinned him to the concrete, scratching as it screamed. The transfer
of this saliva was enough. His screams sealed the transfer. There is no doubt he took in
enough.
That was one night ago. We now sit side by side but he’s having trouble keeping it up. I
give him a shake on the shoulder but there’s no response. While his body is here, his eyes
seem faraway. His soul is wandering somewhere else entirely. His body shivers now, every few
minutes another jolt, as his pupils slowly slide backwards. About every half hour they are further
back.
He made me promise that I would shoot him the second he showed these signs. I asked
the same when it all began and we were taking shelter in our dorms. I understand this exchange
and its authenticity, pressing my revolver’s hammer in after the safety is disengaged. I do this
hesitantly, and show fear clearly, what I swore off when it all began.
But he is my best friend, and he always will be. I cannot end it like this. Morality is a thing
I will always adhere to. He has not turned yet and if there is a chance that he will not I will take
it.
I sigh as I lower back beside him and rest my arms on my knees. I look into the barrel
from the side of the sight and see I have only two bullets left. They were expensive and I could
not afford more than a few stocks. The fight cost about half of them. I cannot fathom using any
of the two on him.

But I turn to my right and see that he is lost. Frothing at the mouth, the metamorphosis is
nearly complete, as his head turns to the heavens. I remember our promise and shudder. My
eyes fall off him. I stare at the pavement of the fifth floor of this forever unfinished structure and
wonder what it could have been. I feel my hair touching my shoulders, barely brisking past them
as my head shakes. I look off into the distance and see a crane piercing an office complex, a
high building of a similar composition. Maybe this outline could’ve been the same. But if it had
reached that point, it would be to no avail, as a similar crane or group of rebels would have
taken it eventually and ruptured its foundation. Out of these fissures would come an essence of
evil, an abuse of the foundation much as smugglers used the crane bridge to transport their
wares. The escapists stayed grateful and addicted, a building founded on providing for people
now living to continuously destroy their lives. I won’t let him become the same.
I see his eyes. They are gone. I jump backwards and land on my back, but I take the
revolver with me, hand on hand aiming grip, sight directly through his head. I pull the trigger
once, twice, he’s gone. I have lost a friend and am left with a grief I will never recover from.