The music was beautiful. It would have made Nina cry, had she had any tears left to shed.
Nina Broliguez lay in her bed in silence, eyes closed. She’d asked the computer—ALICE—for calming music. For a machine, it had done a pretty good job. The music was simpler than simple. Just a single violin, wandering through an imaginary dark, stuttering one moment, twitching the next, rocking and gyrating, movement sublimating in and out of existence. Maybe it was just because she was at the edge of death, but Nina saw things and felt things she hadn’t known before. Butterflies in the dark. Moths, slowly circling a dying light. Pawing through a loved one’s leftovers, sorting through memories and dissolution—the remains of a life.
Ever since she’d stepped away from the sight of the creature Lopé had become, Nina’s thoughts had been like panthers, prowling inside her head, refusing to rest in peace. But the music helped with that.
It helped her want to live, if only to hear it again.
Her hospital gown was rough and sweaty. The air was thick with the warring smells of antiseptic vanilla and the plague’s heavy, sickly sweet tang. Nina sat up in her bed, with her back against the pillow, which wasn’t giving her as much support as she would have liked.
Then again, what was?
Not much, that’s for sure, she thought.
She really hated the waiting, and wished the fungus and the fancy new meds would make up their minds and decide what to do with her. Nina figured if she could handle being alive, she could certainly handle being dead. Being stuck like this, though? That was for the fucking birds.
Still, the music helped with that.
Opening her eyes, Nina looked around the room, the nice, big room the doctors had set her and her family up in. It was bigger than the living-room-kitchen they had at the apartment, back home. Every once in a while, the machines the doctors had hooked them up to would chirrup, beep, or burp. The music was stronger, though.
Papa and Quatémo were both unconscious, as was Nina’s mother, who had recently joined them in that pastime. Her mother’s bed creaked beneath her mother’s weight. She was still breathing on her own, though Nina couldn’t tell if her coughs and labored breaths had gotten better or worse.
She hoped that meant the myco-whatever was doing its job.
Quatémo was still hooked up to his breathing machine. The way the ventilator probed into his face and throat made for what had to be the world’s worst blow-job. It was violating and horrible, yet he needed it to breathe.
Nina swallowed hard. Her throat was still sticky and raw, but her head wasn’t throbbing anymore. The feeling of knives crawling beneath her skin had gone away.
That was a good sign.
A better sign, though? Her dad.
They’d taken him off his ventilator.
It had made the nurses cry—but good crying, though. Tears of joy.
Nina wanted to be happy about that. She wanted to smile, knowing that she and her family might actually have a chance of getting through this horror.
But she couldn’t.
Their room’s door was slightly ajar. Through the gap, and through the window in the door, Nina could see the plastic quarantine tunnel that jutted out from the wall into the hallway. Some soldiers were walking down the hall. Or maybe they were just standing guard. To Nina, the tunnel looked like one of the ones people used to board an aerobus for a long journey—a cross-country journey, or a trip overseas. She’d never been on one, though; she’d only ever seen them in the movies. The Broliguezes weren’t the kind of family that could afford that kind of fancy stuff.
Ever since Lopé had become Paul, Nina had stopped giving thought to the what ifs and the tomorrows. What was the point of tomorrow if it was a tomorrow without family?
It was like her Dad liked to say: “You don’t have nothing if you don’t have family.”
Part of her almost wanted the plague to kill her. Dying would be so much easier than living. How could she move on when she blamed herself for what her brother had become? So what if she’d always wanted to fly to the countries across the sea? What did that matter, now? There wasn’t going to be anything left to visit, and, even if there was, would she even want to go?
Part of the reason she wanted to go was because her family wanted to go. She knew her Mom did. And she knew Lopé did. Her little brother had told her, once, about all the places he wanted to visit—Mu, most of all. He talked about it like it was some kind of wonderland. He’d wanted to ride those fancy bullet trains, and take a tour of the DAISHU Labs at Mt. Aoi.
She could picture him saying it: “That’s where the real inventors are, Nina!”
But that was from… before. Before Lopé had become Paul, and before Paul had become that…
—Nina didn’t want to think about that.
Her trailing thoughts guided her to a quiet, bitter laugh and a painful cough.
As much as it hurt her to think it, at least the newest version of Paul couldn’t use Lopé’s words anymore. It felt like justice, maybe—not that Nina really knew what justice felt like, anyhow. He’d stolen Lopé’s lips, lips that had once babble about math nobody couldn’t understand, or gobbled up horchata porridge fresh out of Mama’s kitchen. Nina didn’t want to see Paul use them. He didn’t deserve those lips. He didn’t deserve Lopé’s mind, either.
Suddenly, the violin did a beautiful thing. After a trill, for some reason, the music became sunlight. There was a dawn, and it ushered in something noble and warm. Nina didn’t have words for it, only gratitude and tears. The music struck many strings at once, the way a guitar might. But they weren’t plucked. They vibrated. For the briefest moment, the sound would be harsh, but then the strings would sing. The music did this many times, and the musician pulled it off flawlessly. She wondered where such beautiful sounds would go at a time like this.
She wished she could follow them.
By and by, Nina’s thoughts returned to her little brother. She stuffed her face into her pillow, begging it to soak up her tears.
Nina was afraid of getting better, and she knew exactly why.
I don’t deserve it, she thought.
She was torn. She wanted her parents to wake up, so that she could hug them and tell them they were safe, and that they were going to be okay, because then they would tell her that they loved her, and then they’d return her embrace, and prove their words true. But a part of her wanted them to stay sleeping. At least in the world of dreams, they could still be a family.
The music turned sad again. Its middle section was like the day, and, like the day, now it returned to the night from which it came. The void returned, with its butterflies, circling in the dark, and it ended in the stillness of a solemn unison.
Just like life, she thought.
But life was not yet dead.
Not quite.
Nina’s heart skipped a beat as she heard a man groan. She turned toward the sound.
Sheets rustled as a body stirred.
“Miha…?”
It was her father. He was up! Yeah, his voice had more gravel than the desert, but it was there. He was speaking.
Nina watched in shock as her father sat up in his bed. His thin mustache twitched. She held her breath, only to gasp in fear as her father bent over and coughed up a storm, splattering trails of black ooze on his gown and beddings.
“Water,” he begged, reaching out with his arm. He was too weak to go anywhere.
Ignoring her aching legs, Nina got up from her bed. She trembled as she stood. The vinyl floor was bracingly cool beneath her bare feet. It felt like fire and ice at the same time. Lightheadedness stirred inside her skull, closing her eyes, she told it no and powered through it, staggering over to the sink. She fumbled for a plastic cup, filled it with water, and hobbled over to give it to her father, and then hobbled back to get a cup of her own.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Nina drank another cup, and then another, and another, and then doubled back to her father to answer his cries for more. By the third time she’d handed the cup back to him, she was already feeling winded from the exertion. Unable to make it back to her own bed, she went down on her knees at her father’s bedside, leaning onto the bed to support herself, her arms splayed over the mattress.
“ALICE, lower the music, please,” she said, raising her head.
The music had changed to something loud and stupidly peppy.
With his thirst quenched, Nina’s father shook his head. He sat up more, only to clutch at his chest as he groaned in pain.
“No, Papa,” Nina said, “you got shot, remember? Don’t move. Just rest. Rest. Please,” she coughed, “for once, just listen to me.”
Her Dad coughed too, wincing in pain before he finally settled down. He looked around for a bit before turning to face her. “What…? What happened?”
Nina nodded. “The doctors, they treated your gunshot wound. They gave us medicine for our pain, and then Dr. Howle got us put on a special new treatment for the Green Death—a mykofage, I think he called it. Some other doctors came and talked to Mama about it, and then gave it to her and the rest of us when she started going chabita.”
“Why does—” Wincing again, her father brought his hand to his throat. “My throat?” he rasped.
Nina could see the sweat on his cheeks and forehead had begun to dry.
Smiling—crying—Nina reached out and held her father’s hand. “They put you on a ventilator—a breathing machine. A little while ago, after they gave us the new treatment, they took you off the ventilator. Nobody’s ever come off the ventilator before.”
Her father’s brow furrowed. “Where is your brother?” he asked, softly enough that he didn’t rasp. “Where’s Lopé?”
His words broke Nina’s heart all over again.
He didn’t know Dr. Howle had taken her to see Lopé, just like he didn’t know about her powers.
None of them did.
“He’s… he’s fine,” Nina lied. “He’s in another room.”
“Why isn’t he here with us? A boy should be with his family.”
Though Nina definitely felt a little better, her thoughts were still muddy, as if she hadn’t gotten enough sleep. She came up with her explanations as quickly as she could.
“There’s not enough room.”
Her father frowned. “Bullshit.” Jerking his hand away from hers, he turned, swinging his legs over the other side of the bed.
Nina pushed off the mattress and stood. “Papa, what are you doing? Please,” she begged, “I don’t want to have a fucking fight. Not here. Not now.” She was on the verge of tears.
“I…” Her father panted heavily. “I want to see him.” He breathed in hard. “If—“ he pressed his thumb against his chest, “—if my son is better, he should be here.” He pointed at the floor. “He can believe whatever he wants to believe. I don’t care what he calls himself. But he’s gotta be here. A man’s gotta be a man.”
Reaching out with a trembling arm, Nina’s father grabbed the stand of his IV drip. He leaned into it as he rose, using the stand as a cane.
Hoping to stop him, Nina went around to the other side of the bed, clasping the footboard for support. She reached out and grabbed him by the arm as he took his first steps away from the bed.
For all his stubbornness and his quickness to anger—and, fuck, there was a lot of it!—Nina knew, deep, deep down, her father was a kind man. He was just too stubborn for his own good.
Their gazes met, making Nina tremble. When her father looked at her like that, it was as if she was pressing his fingers into the core of her soul.
She knew that gaze. It was one to be wary of. It was the look that Garço Broliguez wore when he’d made up his mind to do something, and once that happened, not even the gods could stop him.
“No, papa,” she said, “you can’t.”
“Nina,” he said, again pulling his arm away, “I am your father. You will listen to me.” He coughed.
Nina tugged at her hair, rattling her turquoise beads.
The next thing she knew, her father had flung the door open, instantly drawing the attention of the soldiers in the hall.
Shit! Nina thought.
Even at death’s doorstep, her father hadn’t lost his flair for bad timing.
“Sir, get back!” one of the men said. Text flashed across his helmet’s visor. It was reflected and backward and weirdly filtered; Nina couldn’t make heads or tails of it. But she had no trouble recognizing the picture that suddenly appeared on the visor: a photo of her Dad and her brothers. He had a big smile on his face as he wrapped his arms around them.
“Mr. Garko Broliguez,” the soldier said, mispronouncing her father’s name.
Her Dad coughed. “Who wants to know?”
“You need to get back in your room.”
“Not until I see my son,” her father replied. “Where is Lopé?”
Another soldier spoke up. “He doesn’t look feral.”
“They never do,” the first soldier said, “and then, bam, they are.”
Garço stepped forward, the IV stand’s feet clopping on the vinyl floor. He moved into the airlock, pressing his spare hand against the tunnel’s transparent, ribbed walls for support. The plastic crinkled beneath his touch.
“Papa,” Nina yelled, “stop!”
One of the soldiers raised his rifle, turning off the safety with a dry click.
“What are you doing?” the other soldier asked. “I can just use the taser.”
“The taser is more likely to make them go feral than bullets are, corporal,” the first soldier replied. “You know that.”
The other soldier cursed under his breath, and then turned to Nina’s father.
“I’d listen to your daughter, sir,” he said. “Get back in your room, now. This is not a request.”
Garço scoffed. “A man goes where he pleases.”
“Not when people are turning into zombies left and right,” answered the soldier with the rifle. “The safest place for you to be is right behind you.”
Garço stomped the IV stand on the floor. “Not without my son,” he said.
Nina’s heart was racing. She felt lightheaded.
“Can’t you ask the nurses?” the other soldier said.
Garço coughed. “I already tried that!”
I can’t fucking take it no more, Nina thought.
She couldn’t lose Lopé and her father.
Nina stepped forward. “Papa, he’s not Lopé anymore. He’s not even Paul anymore.”
Looking over his shoulder, her father turned back to face her. “What?”
“He’s turning into one of those things,” Nina cried, “those serpents!” Her voice broke. “He’s not human anymore.”
A scratchy noise crackled in Garço’s throat. He shook his head. The IV stand rattled in his grip. “No, that can’t—”
—But then, narrowing his eyes, he reared back, bearing down on Nina with an accusative glare. “How do you know that, miha?” His words were barely above a whisper. “How would you know what happened to him?”
Suddenly, Nina’s mouth was a desert. She could feel her bones rattle inside her limbs.
Fuck it all! she thought.
“Because a doctor told me,” she said. “Dr. Howle. The same guy who got us the treatment.” She shook her head. “When I left Lopé here a couple days ago, it was because Dr. Howle told me Lopé was turning into something that wasn’t human. He promised to help, and he’s been trying, but…” Nina found her tears again. “He hasn’t been able to stop it,” she said. She sniffled. “A little while ago, he took me to one of the places where they’re keeping them… the transformees.” She gulped. “I saw him, Papa. I saw Lopé.”
Nina looked her father in the eyes, and, seeing him looking in hers, she knew he believed her. It filled her with hope. But then Garço turned around and kept walking down the tunnel, and her hope caught fire.
“Papa, stop!”
“Sir!” the soldier yelled. “Get back! Sir, get back, now!”
But he didn’t.
A lot of things happened next: Nina’s father plowing forward, the plastic crinkling as he pushed off the side of the tunnel; the soldiers screaming as the one with the rifle fired at Garço at nearly point-blank range with a weapon whose only purpose was to tear through human flesh. But the most important thing was what happened in Nina’s mind.
It was a reflex, more than anything else. Just a girl looking out for her Dad.
A pleasant buzzing sensation cushioned the back of Nina’s head as she called on her powers. It felt like all the practicing she’d been doing had been leading up to this moment. Without even needing to move, Nina wove a sheet of unseen light in front of herself and her father, bending it around them like a windshield. Nina sensed the wall of energy unfurl in her mind’s eye. The side that faced the soldiers was covered in spikes. The spikes were there because she wanted them to be, and because, in a mix of memory instinct, she knew that that was what needed to be done in order to do what she wanted to do.
The forcefield thickened, visibly glowing where the bullet struck it. Light rippled across the surface as the bullet was knocked back.
Nina could almost see the soldier’s eyes gaping behind his visor as the man lowered his gun in sheer disbelief.
“What the hell?” he muttered.
Panting heavily, Nina stepped back and pulled her arms inward, dragging the forcefield along with her. It bent in a U shape around her father as it pulled back.
The other soldier fired, and more than once. Nina’s barrier flashed at every impact, deflecting the bullets one by one. The ammo clinked as it fell to the floor.
“Stop it!” she screamed. “Stop it!”
Nina let her anger guide her. Her thoughts ripped through the forcefield as she pulled out a memory—a trick she’d come up with for boiling water. It would be simple to change the weave to make it shoot little bursts of pale fire, but she had something else in mind.
Water boiled, and blood was mostly water. She’d learned that much at school. And if blood was water, then it could boil, too.
She focused on the madman who’d shot at her and her father. She didn’t want to kill anyone, but… he had to be stopped. So she boiled him, but just a little bit. It was just like with the water in the sink at home.
She’d been practicing, just like I’d told her.
Furious, Nina flicked her hand. In her mind’s eye, she sensed her power’s jittering tendrils wrap around the soldier’s arms. They sprouted from the air like vines. For an instant, she felt the slightest bit of resistance, the soldier’s will butting heads with her own. But, if there was anything he could have done to stop her, he didn’t know how.
The soldier dropped his rifle as his arms began to tremble. Splotches of discoloration spread all across his body, and steam rose from his mouth and nose. A heartbeat later, all the blood vessels in eyes burst, drowning his eyes in red.
Realizing what she’d done, Nina recoiled in shock.
Blood didn’t stay in one place; it moved around.
In human beings, blood travels through the entire circulatory system multiple times per second.
But it was too late.
The soldier barely had time to scream before he fell to the floor, twitching and frothing, smelling of steam and seared chicken, and then he moved no more.
Nina’s father turned to face her, as did the remaining soldier. They looked at her with utter horror.
As arms gripped her from behind, Nina turned around to see her brother, Quatémo, standing behind her. The breathing machine that had been hooked up to him lay on the floor behind him, covered in green-stained saliva and black ooze.
“What are you…?” Quatémo whispered. He was barely able to speak, but too horrified to stay silent.
For a moment, Nina trembled, not knowing how to respond. Then she felt something pinch her, and the next thing she knew, electricity poured into her body, spiriting her away in pain, shock, and the smell of burning hair.
“The General is gonna want to see this,” the soldier said.
And then everything was darkness.