Infected

MAREN

Mr. Henshaw pulled my ankle, dragging my foot off the crossbar before I could swing it over the gate.

I hooked my elbows around the upper rail and held on. His fingers tightened as I kicked backwards with my other foot, catching him near the forehead.

“Let go!”

He opened his mouth and lunged towards my calf. I pulled my knee up, but he held on to my shoe until my heel slipped out of it.

The sudden release nearly made me fall. I dragged myself over the top rail and dropped onto the pavement, landing with my ankle twisted beneath me. I felt unbearable pain throughout my leg.

I tried to stand, but my foot would not take my weight. Through the bars, Mr. Henshaw reached towards me, still holding my shoe in his other hand. I pushed myself away from the gate and struggled upright.

The evacuation vehicle had turned the corner, but I could still hear its engine. Perhaps the driver would stop if he heard me. Perhaps Grant would finally look back and realise what he had done.

“Grant!”

I limped after them, clutching my bag against my side.

“Please stop!”

Behind me, the damaged fence panel crashed against the pavement. I turned and saw Mr. Henshaw forced his shoulder through the gap. I tried to move faster, but each step sent pain through my ankle.

And the very moment that it felt like all hope was lost, there came a glimmer of home. A pickup approached from the opposite direction, and I raised my free hand.

“Help me!”

The driver stepped on the brake several feet away. He looked past me before opening his door with a gun in his hand.

“Get down!”

I dropped onto my knees as the shot sounded. For a moment, I could not hear anything except the ringing in my ears. I stayed bent over with my hands covering my head, waiting for another shot or for Mr. Henshaw to grab me again.

Someone crouched beside me.

“Can you hear me?”

I nodded without looking up.

“Are you hurt?”

“My ankle.”

“Anywhere else?”

I lowered my hands. Blood had smeared across my fingers and onto the sleeve of my shirt.

“I cut my hands on the gate.”

The man looked towards Mr. Henshaw, then back at me. His dark hair was cut short, and there was a healing cut beneath his jaw.

“My name’s Ronan Kessler. Can you stand?”

“I think so.”

He reached for my arm, and I pulled away before I could stop myself. Then his hands paused briefly.

Grant had reached for me too. I had thought he was helping until he pushed me into the garden. Ronan lowered his hand and gave me room to move.

“Try slowly.”

I planted my uninjured foot beneath me and pushed up. The moment I put weight on the other one, my knee buckled. He caught my elbow before I fell.

“Can I help you to the truck?”

I looked behind him. Mr. Henshaw lay beside the broken fence, no longer moving.

“Yes,” I said.

Ronan slipped my arm over his shoulder and supported me towards the pickup. I tried not to lean on him too heavily, but by the time we reached the door, I could barely lift my injured foot. He opened it, then noticed the blood on my palms again.

“Were you bitten?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“He grabbed my ankle. I got away before he could bite me.”

“I need to check.”

I pulled up my trouser leg. Finger marks were already darkening around my ankle, and I watched his face while he crouched to examine it.

“What about the back?” he asked.

I turned my leg carefully. He checked it without touching, then stood.

“All right. Get in.”

He helped me onto the seat and placed my bag beside my feet. When he shut the door, I immediately reached for the handle. It opened, but I let it close again before he came around to the driver’s side.

Ronan noticed my hand resting against the latch but said nothing as he started the engine.

“Where were you going?”

“The settlement beyond the eastern checkpoint.”

“Was that your evacuation vehicle?”

“It was supposed to be.”

He glanced at me before returning his attention to the road.

“My husband gave my clearance pass to another woman.”

Saying it aloud made me look down at my wedding ring. That morning, I had worried about losing it while carrying our luggage. Now it sat above the blood drying across my fingers.

“He left you behind?”

“He locked me in our garden.”

Ronan turned towards me.

“I told him the fence was broken,” I continued. “He knew that man could get through, but he kept the key.”

His grip tightened around the steering wheel. I reached into my bag and found my phone beneath a folded shirt. Grant’s name was still at the top of my recent calls.

I clicked on it.

The phone rang four times before he answered.

“Maren?”

“Why did you lock the gate?”

He remained quiet for a moment.

“Where are you?”

“A man stopped for me.”

“What man?”

“I don’t know him. He saw me on the street and helped.”

“Are you with him now?”

“Yes. Mr. Henshaw got through the fence. He grabbed my leg.”

“Did he bite you?”

“No, Grant. I got away.”

He exhaled, but he did not apologise. I waited anyway, gripping the phone so tightly that the cuts on my hands began to sting.

“You could have given me the key,” I said. “Even if you wanted to leave with her, you could have opened the gate.”

“Maren, listen to me.”

“Why? I asked you to listen, and you left.”

“Don’t come to the settlement.”

I stared through the windscreen.

“What?”

“Don’t follow us here.”

The call ended before I could answer. I called again, but it would not connect. After the third attempt, I lowered the phone.

“He blocked me.”

Ronan let me sit quietly for a moment before speaking.

“I can take you to my convoy. We have a medic who can look at that ankle.”

I nodded, although I barely understood where we were going. My phone vibrated before I put it away. The notification came from the evacuation registry. I opened it and read the report beneath my name.

Grant claimed he had witnessed an infected neighbour biting me before we separated. My identification had been flagged at every registered shelter.

I read it again, hoping I had misunderstood. Then I turned towards Ronan.

“My husband told them I’m infected.”