Chapter 7: The Mutation

The days had started to feel longer. Time had a strange way of blurring into one, especially when the hours were spent pouring over data that only seemed to get worse with each passing moment. I had known, deep down, that the virus was evolving. It wasn’t just mutating—it was adapting faster than any virus I’d ever studied. And now, with every test I ran, I could see that it was becoming more aggressive, more intelligent in its attacks.

I sat hunched over my desk in the makeshift lab, my eyes scanning the data on the screen. The results were damning. The virus was no longer just attacking the body in the same way it had at the start of the outbreak. It had learned to fight back against the immune system more efficiently. Even worse, it seemed to be targeting specific areas of the brain, making its victims more aggressive and less human with each stage of infection.

I ran my fingers through my hair, frustration building. How had it gotten this bad? How could we not have seen it coming?

The virus was mutating at an alarming rate. Every new sample I tested was different from the last. What had once been a virus with clear symptoms and progression was now a shifting, unpredictable enemy. If we didn’t act quickly, I was afraid it would become untreatable—impossible to stop or even control. And if it kept evolving, it wouldn’t just kill people. It would turn them into something unrecognizable.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the screen, my thoughts a jumbled mess of data and worst-case scenarios. I had to warn Ethan. I had to warn the military. They needed to know just how serious this was. We didn’t have much time left.

Before I could make the call, the door to the lab creaked open. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Still here?” Ethan’s voice was calm, but there was a note of concern in it.

I glanced over at him, surprised to see him standing there, framed by the doorway. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days—his uniform slightly askew, his face drawn and tired. I had seen him look more exhausted than this in the past week, but something about today seemed different. The weight of what was happening was visibly pressing down on him.

“I can’t stop, Ethan,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended. “The virus—it’s changing faster than we expected. I can’t just ignore it.”

Ethan stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. His gaze lingered on the screen before moving back to me. “What do you mean by ‘changing’?”

I swallowed hard, trying to organize my thoughts. “It’s mutating—getting stronger. It’s attacking the brain, becoming more aggressive, more resistant to the immune system. The infected are... evolving. The longer this goes on, the more I fear it’ll be untreatable. It’s adapting too quickly. We have to find a way to stop it before it reaches the next stage.”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing slightly. I could see the tension in his posture. He had spent so much time coordinating his soldiers, leading them on missions, trying to keep the base secure, but he was just one man. And as much as I admired his strength, I could see that he was starting to wear thin.

“Is there anything we can do?” he asked quietly, his voice carrying a weight I hadn’t heard before.

I rubbed my temples, trying to suppress the growing panic. “I don’t know yet. I’m still gathering data, but if we don’t act soon—if we don’t find a way to disrupt the mutation—I don’t know what will happen. It’s getting harder to track its progression.”

Ethan was silent for a moment, his eyes flicking between me and the screen. He looked frustrated, helpless in the face of something so unpredictable.

“We can’t afford to waste any time,” he said, his tone firm, though I could hear the edge of concern beneath it. “You need to report this to the higher-ups. The military needs to know what we’re dealing with.”

I nodded. “I’ll make the call.”

---

I spent the next hour drafting the report. It was hard to focus, though. The weight of the situation was pressing in on me—no matter how much I tried to ignore it, I couldn’t escape the sense of urgency. The virus was no longer just a threat to individuals—it was a threat to civilization itself. And if we didn’t find a way to stop it, we would all pay the price.

By the time I finished, I felt drained. The words were there, but they didn’t feel like enough. How could I explain the severity of the situation when I wasn’t even sure what was going to happen next?

I sent the report off, my fingers lingering on the keyboard for a moment longer than necessary. And then, just as I was about to pull myself away from the desk, I heard footsteps behind me.

Ethan was back. I turned to face him, my gaze automatically searching for any sign of relief on his face. But he didn’t look any less burdened than he had earlier.

“You sent the report?” he asked, his voice low.

“Yeah,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “It’s in their hands now. But even if they act fast, we’re still looking at a race against time.”

Ethan nodded, his eyes scanning the room before settling back on me. “I’ll make sure we’re ready for whatever comes next.”

His voice was steady, but there was something else in his gaze—something deeper, something raw. Ethan Cole was a leader. A soldier. But I could see, in the quiet moments like this, that he was human. And like all of us, he was afraid.

“You don’t have to do it alone, you know,” I said, my voice softer than I intended.

Ethan blinked, clearly taken off guard by my words. For a moment, he seemed almost vulnerable, and I realized that this was the first time I’d said something that wasn’t purely scientific or military in nature. We were talking as people, not as soldiers and scientists.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” he said, his voice almost too quiet.

“You’re not,” I replied, my heart beating faster as I tried to find the right words. “You’re not a burden. You’re doing everything you can. And we’re all here to help. You don’t have to carry this alone, Ethan.”

There was a long silence between us. Ethan was staring at the floor now, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. I could see the internal battle he was fighting—the weight of responsibility and the fear of failure gnawing at him.

“I’ve never done this before,” he said quietly, his voice almost lost. “I’ve never had to rely on anyone. I’ve always been the one people turn to, the one they follow. But this...” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

His vulnerability caught me off guard. It wasn’t that I hadn’t noticed the pressure he was under—it was that I hadn’t realized just how much he was carrying. It was easy to look at Ethan Cole—the man who survived the fever, who led his team through countless battles—and see a hero. But in this moment, I saw something else: a man who was afraid of losing control. Afraid of failing everyone who was counting on him.

“You don’t have to have all the answers,” I said softly, stepping closer. “You don’t have to do this alone. Let me help.”

Ethan’s gaze lifted to meet mine, and for the first time since I had met him, I saw a flicker of something—hope, maybe, or maybe just the relief of knowing someone else was there.

“I’m not used to asking for help,” he said, his voice thick with something I couldn’t quite place. “But... maybe it’s time I start.”

I nodded, my heart a little lighter. We weren’t just colleagues anymore. We weren’t just fighting the virus, trying to save the world. We were partners—facing the same fears, the same uncertainties. And for once, it didn’t feel like we were alone.

“We’ll figure this out,” I said, my voice firm. “Together.”

Ethan studied me for a moment longer before finally nodding. His shoulders seemed to relax just a little, the tension in his posture easing ever so slightly.

“We’ll figure it out,” he repeated, his voice resolute.

---

The night stretched on, but as the hours passed, the weight of our conversation hung between us, reminding me that the fight against the virus was more than just a battle of science. It was a fight for survival. A fight for hope. And no matter how exhausted we both were, we had to keep going.

Ethan and I didn’t speak much after that, but somehow, the silence wasn’t as heavy as it had been before. There was an unspoken understanding between us now—a quiet agreement that we were in this together. We didn’t have all the answers, and we didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But at least we weren’t facing it alone.