His arm ached. It felt like snakes were writhing around his bicep, lapping and biting simultaneously. It was also numb from the elbow down. He opened his eyes, searching for the offending animal. The bright hospital lights hurt him, making it hard to see. He tried to move but his left arm and chest were restrained. His right arm, the one that hurt, refused to move at all. Had he been thrashing about in his sleep? He turned his head as far as he could. Clear plastic sheets surrounded his bed. There was a hiss of gas and the air smelled sterile. The room was windowless and barely furnished. It appeared he was in isolation or quarantine. Why was he alone? What had happened?

His mind was fuzzy — his recent memories just a blur of emotion and fleeting images.

He had been scared. That was all he could remember.

Why was he in isolation?

“Hello?” he croaked, his panic rising. “Can anyone help me?”

He fought with the bonds restraining him. “Help!”

As he twisted and fought to sit up, the door opened. A figure dressed in a sealed bio-hazard suit stood in the doorway regarding him.

“Why am I here?” asked Connor, shaking his handcuffed hand. “What happened to me?”

The figure studied him silently. Connor waited, his patience waning with every passing second. Without a word, the figure left the room and closed the door.

“Hey! Help me!” yelled Connor, fighting the bonds holding him. He arched his back and bucked. The strap across his chest burst. Connor wriggled up the bed until he could sit up a fraction. He looked down at his aching arm. Blood red tendrils sprouted from the stump above his elbow, connected to the jagged wound of his forearm. As he watched, a new tendril sprouted from his bicep and snaked to the torn arm. The thin filament latched on and started to grow. The pain increased, as if the raw nerves were reconnecting. It was a horrifying and alien sight.

Connor found his wits and screamed.

The wound didn’t bleed openly. He could see every fibre of muscle, sinew and bone. The pain increased. The fingers on his right hand twitched.

Connor screamed again.

The door to his room opened. A serviceman entered, a rifle at the ready and a tactical mask covering his face. He took a position in the corner of the room, his finger hovering above the trigger. Another two people entered wearing full bio-hazard suits, only their eyes visible above the mask’s respirators.

“You need to calm down, Mr Hill,” said the first suit.

“What is happening to me?” yelled Connor hysterically.

“You need to calm down. You will only make it worse.”

“Worse than this!?” screamed Connor, nodding to the freak-show on his arm.

The suit pointed at other. “Sedate him now.”

The other pulled out a syringe preloaded with a clear fluid, whipping the protective cover off and inserting the needle into the I.V line. Connor writhed in pain for several moments until he felt a chill run through him. He eased back on the bed, panting. He wasn’t sure who these people were. The first suit was staring at Connor’s wound. The other walked around to check on his charts and inspect the medical equipment hooked up to him.

Connor looked at each of the people in the room in turn. “Will one of you tell me what is happening to me? Where am I?”

“We have no idea,” said the first suit. “You haven’t left Boise General, yet.”

“How did this happen?” spat Connor.

“You were injured in a gun fight between local P.D and an unidentified group of terrorists,” said the suit with a note of caution in his voice. “When you were found, you had been hit in the chest and arm with Mini-Ex rounds. The nurse who found you thought you were dead, but when she tried to move you, she discovered these… things growing,” said the suit, pointing to his arm. “They were sucking up the blood. Part of the dead terrorist had been digested. Amazingly, your chest healed right in front of her. Then… those things went looking for your missing arm.”

Connor didn’t believe what he was hearing. These things were inside of him?

“What are they?” he asked, voice breaking.

The suits exchanged looks. “We are not sure,” said the other, a woman. “It is nothing any professional this side of the world has ever witnessed. It may be a mutation or the effects of some kind of virus employed by the A.R.C.”

Connor bowed his head. “What does this mean?”

The male suit cleared his throat. “We don’t know. Your case has been referred to the C.D.C. They will determine what happens to you.”

Connor went silent for a moment, his thoughts mixed with raw emotion. “What about my family? Can my mom visit me?”

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“She has,” replied the woman. “We had you on a strong dose of general anaesthesia. So strong, you weren’t supposed to wake up…” she said, checking the intravenous line and drip.

“Please help me,” begged Connor. “I want to go home.”

“You and everybody else who came into contact with your blood have been quarantined until further notice. It will be up to the leading C.D.C agent to determine when that will happen,” said the male suit.

Connor slumped back down in his bed, tears forming in his eyes.

“Listen, Mr Hill. I wish we could help you more, but our hands are tied. Is there anything we can do?

“Can I see my mom?”

“We will contact her,” advised the woman.

“I’m starving,” added Connor, noticing the hollow pit in his stomach. “It takes a lot out of you, growing an arm and stuff…” he said, failing to laugh.

The suits looked at each other. “That shouldn’t be a problem,” said the woman. “He needs more saline and plasma. Those new bags have been sucked dry already.”

The two suits left, whispering to themselves, leaving the armed serviceman to guard him.

Connor studied the soldier. He was dressed in a seamless military outfit, the kind they wore on active duty in hostile environments. All black and armoured with a sophisticated poly-carb weave. They were almost bulletproof, hence why so many forces used Mini-Ex.

“I’m not a threat, you know,” said Connor.

The soldier ignored him, his finger never moving from the trigger guard.

Connor sighed.

He closed his eyes, trying not to think about his arm. The pain was growing however and the terror he felt played in a loop through his mind, alternating between the A.R.C and the thought of being infected with an incurable disease. After a short period of time the door opened once more. A different person entered, protected with a blue bio-hazard suit. They pushed a metal trolley in. I.V bags of blood and other fluids sat beside a plastic meal tray, the food covered with a lid.

They stopped the trolley beside Connor, outside of the plastic film.

“Connor, sweetie, it’s me.”

“Mom?” asked Connor, sitting up.

Denise nodded. “I came as soon as I could.”

She studied him, almost deciding whether to run or stay. Finally, she unzipped the plastic liner and wheeled the tray inside.

“Mom? What’s happening to me?” sobbed Connor, reaching for her with his chained hand.

Denise clasped his hand in hers, squeezing tightly. “I’m not sure son. But I know you will be fine. You always are.”

“Have you seen this?” urged Connor. “I’m a fucking freak!”

Denise hushed him and bent down to cuddle him - an awkward task in the bio-suit. Denise waited until the boy had stopped crying. “It may be strange, son. But think for a moment. You are alive. It is healing you. This may be scary, but trust me, it is a blessing in disguise.” She pulled back to stroke his face, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “I was a front-line medic. I saw what Mini-ex could do to a person. The lucky ones died in an instant. The unfortunate ones bled out. You survived, Connor. Think on that.”

Connor calmed down. “But…”

“What?”

Connor looked at his arm. “What if it does more than heal me? What if it consumes me?”

Denise patted his chest. “We have the best minds in the world. It won’t come to that.”

Connor nodded his head.

“Good,” said Denise. “Now, I’m in here for another reason… three in fact. Let me take care of your fluids, then I’ll come right back.”

“Okay. Do what you must,” said Connor.

As his mom went back out of the plastic seal, Connor sat up and looked at his arm. A hollow pink tube stretched out, searching for a point on the forearm to latch onto. The colour of his severed arm seemed to change. Connor felt weak. He gagged and closed his eyes.

Denise hooked the intravenous bags up and did her own checks on his charts. She came back inside of the plastic seal with a darkened brow, muttering “They gave enough drugs to stone a horse,” before sitting down and cutting Connor’s meal up on her lap. She raised a spoon to her lips, blowing on it before remembering she had a full face mask on. “Are you ready for the aeroplane?”

“I’m not a baby, Mom…”

“You will always be my baby.”

“Just don’t make the noise…”

Denise grinned and made the sound of a propeller plane. “Open wide…” Her spoon drew near Connor’s mouth, who was struggling to stop laughing while keeping his tough façade up. Connor ate with vigour, demolishing the cottage pie in mere moments.

“Geez. You were hungry, weren’t you? I wish you ate the food I made like this…” said Denise, shaking her head.

“How is Avery?” said Connor between the last mouthfuls. “Have you seen him?”

Denise sighed. “I haven’t. We spoke on the phone after the attack. He’s worried about you. And me, I suppose. The whole hospital is a crime scene. Those animals killed…”

Denise paused, her lips trembling. She raised her hand to rub at her tear filled eyes but the mask prevented her. “So many of my friends died… So many good, innocent men and women… They were slaughtered by those A.R.C bastards.”

The deaths of his co-workers hadn’t even crossed his mind. Connor felt like a piece of shit, laying there complaining about his relatively minor problems. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Don’t be sorry, baby,” said Denise, sniffing. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I kind of did,” replied Connor, feeling a hollow pit of remorse grow in his mind. “I told them where to go. I told them where Kim was.”

She grabbed his hand. “You did nothing wrong, Connor. You were a hostage. They would have murdered you regardless of what you did. I’ve seen what the A.R.C is capable of first-hand. Terror and wholesale slaughter were their calling cards. You were lucky to survive.”

Connor winced and squeezed her hand.

“Now… How about dessert?”

“Is it Jell-O?” replied Connor behind a grimace.

“You need to eat all of your food if you want to be a big boy…”

Connor groaned. It was good to have her by his side, even if she did crack bad mom jokes.