If You Were Infected

News. Rumors. Gossip. For weeks, I’d been hearing the same scraps, the same impossible claims.

I never had the chance to watch television, but tonight, I eavesdropped from my room. I pressed my ear closer to the door, trying to catch snippets of the broadcast while my stepfather’s heavy snoring overlapped with it in random beats. It surprised me that the TV didn’t disturb him from his slumber. My mother must have already gone upstairs to sleep, abandoning me once again with this monster. She always had a headache. It was her nightly alibi.

My hand trembled as I turned the doorknob, only to find it stubbornly fixed in place. My stepfather must have locked it again on the other side.

A sharp discomfort twisted in my stomach, and I shifted anxiously from foot to foot. His instruction echoed in my mind: ‘Pee in the corner.’ I shivered at the thought. It was a last resort I resisted so hard. It made me feel dirty, yet the pressure in my bladder was relentless.

The TV made a whooshing sound before switching to a new broadcast, flashing urgent, red headlines that cut through the gloom of the room. I noticed something odd—a faint siren underneath the broadcast—but it never seemed to fade.

One report blamed drugs. Another called it an animal attack. A third mentioned neurological episodes—people turning violent, causing public disturbances. Some witnesses claimed they’d seen the attackers eating others nearby.

Another report flashed, saying a dead person was brought to the morgue for forensic examination. A man was interviewed not long after. They said he was a spokesperson for some hospital—the name was too long to remember. He said, “It’s not drugs; it’s not a mauling. This is just another criminal case. The person died from bullets. The police killed him, and now they’re blaming it on causes that make no sense.”

His statement was cut off by a female voice, most likely the news reporter. After a few moments, another male voice sounded, answering some of her questions. He said he was the city mayor of Rock Springs, where they were in lockdown, and the residents were in distress, wanting to leave the city.

“The US Army is doing what it can to protect the citizens.” The mayor’s voice returned, strained over the wail of sirens. “There were no signs of substance intake. We are not sure of the cause of death, but we’ve found bites on the body that led to heavy loss of blood. Forensics is calling it an animal attack.”

“But what about the other victims?” the female reporter asked.

“They are sent to the hospital immediately.”

“What’s the status at the hospital? Are there more deaths that were caused by the same bites? Are these bites the reason people have gone strangely aggressive—”

Her string of questions was cut by scrambling, screams, and loud bangs. Then, the TV emitted a static hum. I fell backwards. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

School bells rang.

I was in the lunchroom with Alia and Lenore sitting with me at the round table, their faces animated as they chattered. Their food lay untouched; they leaned in close, eyes wide with excitement. I shoveled spoonfuls of green peas and chopped carrots into my mouth, barely tasting them. My gaze remained fixed on the muted TV hanging on a column in front of me.

Alia and Lenore’s voices blurred into a dull hum, their chatter barely registering. But I caught fragments of their conversation in which Lenore was saying, “It’s a conspiracy. You shouldn’t believe it.”

The screen flickered, showing firemen battling infernos and police aiming weapons at silhouettes. Civilians were scrambling about, panicked, and frantic screams and cries filled the scene. I swallowed hard, unable to tear my eyes away from the TV. But as it ended, the screen switched back to the news studio, and the anchors proceeded to other news, smiling. A cooking segment replaced the story.

It must have just been some riot between the cops and civilians.

“Amari,” Alia called and leaned closer, making me flinch in my seat; my attention shifted toward her. She twisted her left arm and glanced at her watch. “Hey, so I gotta meet my client later in the afternoon for the art piece. Do you think Mr. Fritz would let me do my photoshoot tomorrow?”

I knitted my brows slightly, my eyes looking down at my food, intently looking away from her pleading eyes. I picked up some carrots with a fork, excluding the peas because I decided I didn’t like them anymore. “It’s best to ask him,” I said.

“I know. But he kinda scares me. Can you please ask him for me?” She frowned, pouting her lips.

Our scheduled pictorials were today, and I had already gone through the dread. While I was reluctant to get involved, I couldn’t ignore her plea. There had to be something in return.

“Fine,” I said. “What’s in it for me?”

Alia's frown turned into a wide smile, her gummy teeth showing. In haste, she stood from her seat, arms stretched sideways. She walked like a penguin toward me, her space buns bouncing, then exclaimed in a high-pitched tone. “A hug!”

My eyes widened, and I leaned away to avoid the hug, drawing my hands out to stop her. “Not so fast.”

She frowned for the second time, fists on her hips. “Fine! I’ll buy you McDonald’s.”

She retreated to her seat. Lenore grinned at us, obviously amused.

After lunch, I had Andrew tell Mr. Fritz about what Alia had asked me for. It was easier since Andrew was a charmer, and I was… just me. It didn’t take long before Alia's request was approved. Andrew texted Alia right away, and she responded with lots of kiss emojis—for Amari.

All of this for some fast food.

Walking through the locker hallway, I found another TV hung on a column in between the long rows of lockers. My eyebrows furrowed as I noticed something else. I froze. The anchors stared back at me with smiles that almost reached their eyes.

Was I imagining this?