Hostility-1

It’s been three days since she’s seen her family, or at least she thinks it has been three days. She isn’t sure of a lot of things these days. She remembered the time she was sure Scott Hamilton was flirting with her in world history, but it turned out that he flirted with a lot of people. Turned out he was bisexual and flirtation was his natural demeanor. She remembered when she was sure that Hedgewater wouldn’t win the election—after all, the popular vote was in Elliot’s favor—but he won. She was absolutely, positively sure her little brother was okay four days ago— was it four days or five? She couldn’t remember.

She was certain that she was traveling down I-4 West; she was almost there.

How was it she could remember that she would reach her destination in five minutes, but she couldn’t remember when she last saw her family?

Her journey was interrupted by short naps and bathroom breaks and she never stopped in an area that was once largely populated. She didn’t want to interact with anyone or anything. The CDs in the car provided a delightful reprieve from her sorrows, allowing her to reminisce over the countless times her family made this trip. She was currently listening to Fleetwood Mac—the remastered album. Her dad loved Fleetwood Mac and he loved the oldies, in general.

Landslide began to play over the speakers, taking her back five years. Her family was headed down I-4 when her brother asked their father what Stevie Nicks was singing about. He seemed to think about it for a second before replying, “Stevie is singing about the effort we put into making things work. Sometimes life will knock you down, and that work may go to waste, but you have to realize that with time you’ll grow stronger. Does that make sense?”

Her ten-year-old brother shook his head with a dazed look on his face.

“It’s alright, maybe you’ll understand in a couple years, bud,” her dad acquiesced.

Did he ever understand? She wondered. She had listened to this song a number of times and she kept realizing new elements and themes. They sang of time making you bolder and children growing older, but her brother would never grow older. He would never truly understand the poignancy of the song and what it can mean when life is being particularly gruesome. He would never be brought down by that landslide and able to get back up again.

She wasn’t sure how he got sick in the first place. She thought he was smarter than that, he is—was—fifteen. He got sick and she still wasn’t sure how. She didn’t even notice until it was too late and she thought her parents would’ve noticed, but they didn’t. The only reason she missed the final warning signs was her trip for food. Those final hours are crucial to those that are sick and she was gone the whole time. She wasn’t sure if she could forgive herself for that. When she arrived home, it was too late. Her brother was in the final stages, and in their distress, her parents had infected themselves by tending to him. It was a miracle she wasn’t infected —she made sure to grab a medical mask before entering her brother’s room.

Her parents had restrained him as best as they could while he uttered his last words. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry. I love you, okay? I love you all so much. I’m so-” he gasped again, choking as he succumbed to the infection. His words became gargles and snorts that masked the sound of her parents’ sobs. His eyes began to bleed and his body contorted attempting to get free.

She wasn’t sure of when she left the room, but she faintly heard her mother tell her to grab the remaining rope. She knew what she had to do.

The virus that became known as Hostility-1 swept the nation in less than a day. Almost 20 million people had perished within the United States before other countries were affected—this classified the virus as an airborne threat. From what the authorities could tell, no one was immune to the disease and it was spread through pathogens within the air. They still don’t know where it originated, but they knew that once you were infected, your survival rate was less than one percent.

It was characterized through symptoms that were not easily noticed: sporadic hand spasms, increased heart rate, fixation on details, among others small details that were typical of human behavior. The final warning sign that eventually signaled infection was fluid that leaked from the eyes and ears. It was often pink in color and would begin to leak during the final stages of the virus. It was an indicator of the final hours of that person’s life and a precursor of what was to come—a culmination of all the initial symptoms in a heightened state. The hand spasms would become full-body convulsions, the increased heart rate would lead to heart failure, and the most notable one being blood leaking from the eyes and ears as the body attempted to expel the virus that had invaded. It devastated the world, easily wiping out half the world’s population before the sun had set on the fifth day. They didn’t know what to do with all the bodies; burning the corpses could possibly release even more pathogens.

The rate at which the virus spread made it impossible to study its effects and formulate a solution within a short time span. The possibility of a cure was decreasing every day.

Finally. She had reached her destination: Daytona Beach. The one place that held good memories for her. The one place she was sure would take her mind off the horrors she had witnessed.

She wasn’t sure why it was always Daytona Beach, but her family loved it there. So many days had been spent at the beach searching for seashells and learning to snorkel. Those were the happiest times of her life. Happy memories that would hopefully overcome the bad.

Daytona Beach was her way of remembering the good in her family. She wouldn’t have to think about her brother or tying her parents to their bed or saying one last tearful goodbye before trailing gasoline throughout the house. She didn’t have to think of the tears streaming down her face as she drove away from her flame-ridden house. All she would think about were the memories of Daytona Beach and Fleetwood Mac.