Weight of Survival

Cynthia looked from Garrison to me, her eyes wide with frantic, feral desperation. She didn't have a mask. Her breathing was shallow, her lips turning a faint, dangerous shade of blue.

"Valerie, please," Cynthia begged, her voice cracking as she reached out to grab the hem of my trousers. "I am your sister. You can't leave me here to turn into one of those things. Give me your mask. Just for a few minutes. I can't breathe!"

"If she gives you her mask, she dies, Cynthia," Garrison said, his voice flat.

He stepped between us, his boot pinning the edge of her silk dress to the floor.

"You already tried to use her as a shield once today. You don't get a second chance."

"Valerie, tell him!" Cynthia shrieked, looking past his legs at me. "Remember what Mother said? You are supposed to look after me! My heart... my heart is going to fail!"

I looked at my sister. The anger I expected to feel wasn't there. There was only a cold, hollow realization.

For my entire life, her weakness had been my prison. But looking at her now, shivering on the dirty concrete floor of a collapsing bunker, the chains were completely gone.

"Mother isn't here, Cynthia," I said, my voice steady behind the respirator. "And your heart is fine. It always has been."

"You monster!" she spat, her face twisting into the familiar expression of pure hatred. "You always wanted this! You wanted to steal my life! You wanted Garrison!"

"I didn't steal anything," I said. "You threw me to the infected. You told the General I was a thief to get me exiled. You did this to yourself."

A loud groan echoed from the tunnel behind us. The steel door at the far end began to buckle inward, the rivets popping out like bullets. Something massive was throwing its weight against the barrier from the other side.

"We don't have time for this," Garrison said.

He grabbed my arm, turning his back on my sister.

"The garage is through the next intersection. Move."

"Garrison! Valerie! Don't leave me!" Cynthia screamed, scrambling to her feet.

She tried to run after us, but her heels broke completely, sending her crashing back down onto the concrete.

We didn't look back. We sprinted down the utility tunnel, the sounds of her screams fading beneath the violent pounding on the metal doors behind us.

We reached the surface garage, a massive underground cavern filled with military transport trucks and armor. The air here was thick with the smell of gasoline and exhaust fumes, but the red fog hadn't fully breached the upper seals yet.

Garrison led me to a black, heavily armored utility vehicle parked in a private bay. He swiped his clearance card on the driver's side door, and the locks clicked open.

"Get in," he ordered, tossing my backpack into the passenger seat.

Before I could climb inside, a shadow moved from behind the rear tire.

General Vance stepped into the light of the bay. He was holding a standard-issue sidearm, his uniform torn, his face covered in dark smudges. His eyes were bloodshot, but they weren't red like the infected. He was still human, driven by pure, desperate self-preservation.

"Step away from the vehicle, Commander," General Vance said, leveling his gun directly at Garrison's chest.

Garrison didn't raise his rifle. He stood perfectly still, his eyes locking onto his father.

"You abandoned the command center, General. You violated every protocol in the sanctuary charter. You are a deserter."

"I am the commander of this entire district!" the old man yelled, his hand shaking slightly on the grip of the pistol. "The sanctuary is gone, boy! The seals are broken! The only thing that matters is getting to the northern outpost, and I am taking this vehicle to get there."

"The northern outpost requires a biometric authorization from an active field commander," Garrison said, his voice deadly calm. "Your codes were revoked the moment you locked the bulkhead on your own men in the loading bay. You can't even open the bunker door if you get there."

The General's eyes flicked to me, a sudden look of low cunning crossing his face. He shifted his aim, pointing the barrel of the gun directly at my head.

"Then you are going to drive me there, Garrison," General Vance said with a cold, desperate smile. "Or I put a bullet in your little clinic girl right now. Choose."

Garrison's expression didn't change, but I saw the muscles in his jaw tighten until the bone looked ready to snap.

The silence in the garage was deafening, punctuated only by the distant howling of the horde approaching from the lower tunnels.

"Garrison," I said softly, keeping my eyes fixed on the old man's shaking hand. "Don't do it."

"Shut up!" the General screamed at me. "One more word and I pull the trigger!"

Garrison slowly raised his hands, his fingers opening away from his rifle.

"Alright. Put the gun down, Father. I will drive you."

The General laughed, a harsh, mocking sound.

"I knew you didn't have the stomach for a real sacrifice. Open the rear door."

Garrison stepped back, reaching for the handle of the armored vehicle's rear compartment. But as his hand touched the metal, his eyes met mine through the glass of the windshield.

He gave me a single, barely perceptible nod.