Rekkan led me into an alcove of trees and foliage. Early morning sunlight seeped through a spiderweb of tree branches overhead. He unzipped his backpack and drew out antiseptic and a bandage. 

“Let me see your hand.”

I shook my head. “It’s not that bad. We can wait until we reach the research base.”

He lifted his palm between us and raised an eyebrow. With a sigh, I laid my hand on top of his. His fingers closed over mine, warm and rough. Then he unscrewed the antiseptic and dabbed the bite marks.

He had cleaned my gunshot wound with the brusque attentiveness of a sous-chef. Now he bandaged my hand as if handling something fragile… something precious. My eyes darted to his lips, which were pursed in concentration. 

Heat swirled in my stomach, and fantasies danced before my eyes.

Until he spoke.

“You seriously let a baby bite you?”

I propped my free fist on my hip and scowled. “This baby had superpowers or something. Maybe that’s the Third Phase.”

“Superbabies?” He fastened the bandage with a pin. “Could it fly or shoot lasers?”

“No, it... it just crawled really fast.”

“Ah, a speedy baby. Terrifying.”

I glared at him. “Rekkan, I’m serious!”

He frowned, more playful than remorseful. “Are you angry?”

“I could have died, you know.”

His eyebrows ticked together, and the pout dissipated. “I know. And I wasn’t there to protect you.” Eyes still on mine, he drew my hand to his lips and pressed a slow kiss to my knuckles. “That won’t happen again.”

I stared at him, wide-eyed. His soft lips and tender gaze spilled fire through me, singeing my nerve endings and incinerating all thought. 

He tilted his head, and a tiny smile teased his lips. “Are you still angry?”

I swallowed and snatched my hand away. “Fuck you.”

His smile spread into a grin. He slipped the antiseptic into his backpack, and drew out a tupperware. When he popped off the lid, the aroma of seasoned vegetables and meat wafted toward me. 

“Eat.”

Saliva welled in my mouth, but I fisted my hands at my sides. “I’ll eat after we reach the research base. Saving the world is more important than filling my stomach.”

He huffed a harsh laugh. “Do you think I abandoned my fortress so I could save the fucking world? You realize I’m only here for —” He blew out a breath and softened his voice. “Will you eat? Please.”

My chest squeezed, and a fuzzy warmth fluttered in my belly. Only here for... me? 

But then why did he keep rejecting me? Did he not want me like I wanted him? Or was he still afraid of Infecting me?

I accepted the tupperware and shoveled food into my mouth. As I scraped it clean, I said, “I still don’t see why you think you’re Infected. There are plenty of other reasons the Infected might not be interested in you. Maybe you smell bad. I mean, to the Infected. You smell great to me. I mean...” 

I bit my tongue.

A smile flitted over his lips, but then he sighed. “Zaf, it’s not just… even if I’m not Infected, there’s something… something wrong with me.”

I raised my eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

He shouldered the bag and nodded at the opening between the trees. “Thought you were in a hurry. Lead the way.”

Light streamed through the trees, birds chattered, and Rekkan’s quiet presence never strayed more than a few feet from my side. He strolled along with his thumbs hitched in his pockets and head slightly bowed — almost casual, if not for the tension in the set of his shoulder and his constant scanning of the area around us.

The woods gave way to open highway and farmland, and two long shadows etched the snow ahead of us. As we trudged on, the shadows shrank, and the morning bird calls faded, leaving only boots crunching snow. Then a dot ahead grew into a recognizable landmark, and fuzzy words gradually sharpened. 

The Northern Noble Forces: Fighting for a better future.

Unwillingly, my eyes found the sunken farmhouse at the roadside obscuring the field of bodies just beyond. So many people the Noble Forces had failed to save. 

Then the Freshly-Baked man’s last words echoed in my ears with chilling clarity.

I told you not to fire the flare gun. 

“Rekkan, what do you know about the Noble Forces?”

He glanced at the billboard and then at me. Tentatively, he said, “You know they hired me to kill Southies.”

I tipped my head in a quick dismissal. “Yeah, but what are they doing now? They’ve given Northerners flare guns to summon help, but do they actually help anyone?”

His eyes narrowed, and his voice hardened. “Of course they help. They helped me. The Noble Forces were the first to value me — to see everything wrong with me as something good. And they made this bionic leg at their headquarters in Etherland, after a Southie...” 

“I know, but how have they fought for a better future? By killing Southies?”

He scoffed. “You really think the Southie invaders were blameless?”

“That’s not what I was trying to say.”

His eyes glinted with carefully-controlled anger. “Then what exactly are you trying to say, Zafaru?”

I sighed and shook my head. “Forget it. This is where we leave the highway. Let’s find the trail of rocks.”

I scanned the snow just past the billboard and spotted a craggy boulder, gray granite interrupting endless white. When we trekked past the boulder, a second appeared. Near the fifth boulder, a rocky hill rose up before us. Yellow sulfur swirled through black granite, glittering in the light of the overhead sun.

I examined the rocky surface. “Did the scientist give you instructions for when you got here?”

He licked his lips and shifted his feet. “Zaf… I wasn’t exactly listening for instructions.” 

“That’s alright. We’ll figure it out.” 

I traced the rocky surface and probed crevices. Then a notch clicked, and an entire slab of rock slid out from the hill. When I started to peek behind the rock, Rekkan snatched my arm and jerked me back.

“I go first,” he growled.

I tugged my arm free from his grasp. “It’s a Southie research base. It’s probably safer for me than for you.”

“It was a Southie research base,” he said. “We don’t know what it is now.”

He grabbed his rifle and stepped past the freed rock, and I slipped through the gap behind him. A huge room greeted us with granite floor, walls, and ceiling. In the center, a metal furnace whirred softly. Lab equipment and papers scattered across tables around the room.

A metal door on the left swung open, and a man scurried into the room. I glimpsed a white coat, white whiskers, and a bald head with skin the same deep tan as mine. He shuffled through papers at the nearest table without even glancing our way.

Rekkan took one step toward him. “Hey, we’re here to see Doctor Gazira.”

The scientist pushed spectacles up his nose and stared at Rekkan. “It’s already too late.” His mustache twitched. “The Noble Forces know.”

Rekkan tensed. “The Noble Forces know what? Where is Doctor Gazira?”

The scientist bustled back out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

I approached the table where the scientist had stood. A neon green post-it note labeled the first stack of papers: Phase One: Freshly-Baked. A dozen photos depicted men, women, and a few children with glazed eyes and various minor deformities. A limp, a broken arm, an untended cut. Below the photos, scribbled cursive covered the papers.

• Linguistic abilities limited to recent speech stored in muscle memory

• Behave confused, pacing or repeating completed tasks

• Docile except during episode of viciousness

• Transmission through: Biting/scratching? Extended exposure to shared air? Virus in the water system? Contaminated meat? Needle injection?

I stared at the last line, brain scrambling. Needle injection? Like, a deliberate injection?

When a hand touched my elbow, I jolted. Rekkan stood beside me, eyes scanning the room and lip trapped between his lips.

“I don’t like it here, Zaf. I think we should leave.”

“Are you reading any of this? Rekkan, this could answer everything!”

He released a pained exhale. “Then hurry, please.”

I shifted to examine the second stack, topped by a neon yellow label: Phase Two: Overcooked. I sifted through photos of people with various missing limbs and rotting teeth and flesh. Even the still-lifes captured the wrongness of their movements, the misalignment of their bones and muscles. Below the photos, I found a shorter stack of notes. 

• Loss of linguistic abilities and fine motor skills

• Constant focus on destruction and violence, but little ability to plan

When I reached the last page, I swept a glance over the rest of the table. No third stack. I started to turn away when a single misplaced photo caught my eye. A blur of color streaked through the frame, moving too fast to distinguish limbs. A neon-red post-it stuck to the corner.

Phase Three: Fully-Fermented.

“Rekkan, look. Are you seeing this? It’s the Third —”

A door creaked open on the opposite side of the room from where the man had disappeared, and a woman stepped out. Wiry black curls zigged up from her scalp and bushed behind her ears. Green eyes tracked from Rekkan to me. 

“Doctor Gazira?” said Rekkan.

“Come in, come in,” she said, and she whisked back through the doorway. 

Rekkan and I exchanged a glance, and then we started after her, entering a small office. On the closer side, open file cabinets displayed rows of folders, and a single leather-bound notebook splayed open on top of a coffee table. On the far side, Doctor Gazira settled into her office chair and clicked away at a computer. 

I started to step forward, but Rekkan’s hand clamped over my forearm. When I glanced at him, his eyes remained on Gazira.

Rekkan cleared his throat. “Doctor, I refused your invitation a month ago, but I’ve had a… change of heart. Would you still like to study me?”

The doctor gnawed on a fingernail, eyes still locked on the computer screen. “Odd, really. No exponential spread, you see. I’m starting to think...”

My skin prickled, and dread and excitement mingled in my stomach. I took one step forward, as far as Rekkan’s grip on my arm would allow. “Starting to think what, Doctor?”

She shook her head. “Starting to think it’s not a virus.”

Ice poured through my veins. “Not a virus, Doctor? What else could it be?”

“Starting to think it’s not a virus. You see?” She grasped both sides of the monitor and twisted it toward me one tiny tug at a time. “It’s not a virus.” She shook her head again and pushed the screen around the rest of the way, knocking the keyboard onto the floor.

Horror flooded my gut.

The screen showed… nothing. Behind cracked glass, I saw only black.

Rekkan yanked me behind him. I peeked around his shoulder at Doctor Gazira, who jerked her head from side to side hard enough her neck crackled.

“Not a virus. Not a virus. Not a virus!”

Rekkan readied his rifle. “Stay there, Doctor. Don’t move.”

She snapped up from her chair, and the monitor toppled to the ground to join the keyboard. She grasped the opposite edge of the desk and threw a knee up onto the table.

“Not a —”

Rekkan fired the rifle.