Bitten

My mother claimed something bit her a week ago.

She complained of difficulty breathign and said that she couldn't feel her left side from the midscetion down; and that it was numbed. As evidence, she showed us her left thigh. Sure enough, there was a red inflamed patch of flesh. It looked like a mosquito bite, except obviously several times larger. We thought that a spider must have gotten her in her sleep, but since a week had already passed and we weren't exactly rich, we decided against her seeing a doctor. We couldn't afford paying a medical bill for something that would most likely clear up in a few days. Except we weren't so sure it would clear up, it was only a bug bite after all.

My mistake.

The next day, we woke up to the sound of mother's crying. She said that the numbing sensation of her side had indeed gone, but had only been replaced with a searing hot pain. Her breath sounded laboured and hitched ever so often. We inspected her thigh and found that the bite mark had erupted all across her side. That single mark had transformed into several sickly and inflamed mounds that peeled and erupted with pus. She told us it burned.

Time to consult a doctor.

My father told us he would drive her to the nearest neighbourhood clinic. For my part, I departed for summer school. My mother's frightening condition danced in the back of my mind for the entire day, but I tried not to dwell on it. Summer school was coming to an end, and final exams were only a couple days away. We were planning a trip to the beach, but a small tinge of pain in my breathing nagged at me. Was I developing a cold?

I was driving back home, then I got the call.

My father was in hysterics. The doctor at the clinic had taken one glance at my mother's condition and urged her to an emergency room. So my father and mother had gone, waited, waited, and waited a little more. Finally, my mother was allowed to see a doctor. Then it all went downhill. He took one look at her and left the room. My parents were left in the room, confused. Droves of nurses apparently flooded the room. Some drew blood samples from my wheezing mother. Others ushered my father out of the room, shooting down his questions and insisting he wait outside. While he waited, he had time to see a dozen police officers rush into the hospital, run past the waiting area, and storming in the direction of the room that held my mother. He told me the last part in a choking sob: that he heard gun shots.

Then, I heard him scream.

I jumped against my seatbelt. My hands taught and white against the steering wheel. My eyes bulging. I realised I was holding my breath. One the other end of the line, I heard something clattering. Probably his cellphone hitting the floor. Voices argued and yelled. One weeped. My father. The only time I've heard him like that. Blubbering. I was disgusted. I was used to the man of steel my old man had come to represent. Was I confused or disgusted?

Once I heard the gun shots on the other end, I guess nothing seemed real. I turned off the phone and continued the drive home. Once I arrived, it didn't really seem like home any more. I found the block closed off. Police cars patrolling the streets, and people in biohazard siots rushing in and out of my house. In my disillusioned state, I thought it looked something pulled from the movie REC, or Quarantine. It seemed funny at the time. Hilarious, until I saw them wheel out the body of my younger brother from under a tarp.

All I did was drive. I drove out of town. Far out of town. I realised that it would be stupid to keep driving. Whatever was going on, I should have felt lucky to escape. They'd have tried to put a net around us, but I was able to escape because of my schedule. Only I was alive. I ditched my car on an empty street. I walked from there.

So what is it, reader? I've seen enough scary movies to know I'm infected. But with what? My lungs feel like they're burning away, and there's a strange bulge on my back. I haven't checked it out yet, but I'd bet everything I have in my pockets that's it's a red mark. A red mark like a mosquito bite. But what is it? Will I die? It was serious enough to get my mum and dad offed, and even my brother. Whatever I had, I figured it must have been serious enough to rapidly infect others, but how? A cough? A touch? A bite?

I can find out later.

I walked until I could hitch a ride. Then, I walked some more. I stopped at a motel after night and paid with the cash from my pockets. And I tried to sleep, but I couldn't. I kept seeing my brother from under that tarp. All I can do is open my laptop and type this instead.

They took everything from me. I'm going to die anyways. They didn't have to do what they did. They cold have just told us. They didn't have to shoot my parents...I'm going to take out as much as I can before I go. Tomorrow, I'll spend the entire day shaking hands, touching food, cough in the refridgerators, and lick the public water fountains. I'll do whatever it takes to bring you down with me. Tomorrow, please. Shake my hand. Drink from a fountain, Go to a convenience store.

And if I bite you, don't worry. It can't be worse than a simple bug bite.