After what seems like hours, I come to. My vision’s blurry, and my head hurts as if I have a pounding migraine, but not quite. I feel my forehead, and there’s a big bruise—probably because of the gun that knocked me out. As t'm still laying there, I notice my head resting against metal.

  My vision becomes clearer and I look around, seeing a line of teenagers directly across from me on the other side of the truck. The rows resemble a hayride; everyone’s sitting on one side of the truck, directly facing someone sitting on the other.

  bzz...

  There are two dim buzzing lights along with cold steel pressing against my back. If I had to guess, the benches are made of the same thing.

  Everyone else is asleep besides the teenagers across from me: a girl, and another guy.

  “Look who finally decided to wake up,” the guy says.

  I ignore him, trying to get a greater sense of my surroundings. I’m still inside the truck, but it’s moving, and the doors are all the way shut. I can’t open them from first glance—not by using the actual doors, at least. Sealed from the outside.

  “Ugh...what happened?” I ask.

  “Your mom got her brains blasted out, and that military dude knocked you the fuck out, that’s what happened,” says the guy.

  He has messy brown hair, brown eyes, and a semi-long nose. He has a decently athletic build to go with it.

  He gets greeted with an elbow jab by the girl sitting next to him. “BRETT!”

  The girl has long brunette hair parted from the side, with pretty hazel eyes, a little button nose, and pouty lips—although, I can’t tell whether the pout is purposeful or not. Probably purposeful, considering the guy just mocked my dead mother.

  She adds, “Can you shut the fuck up for once? He’s clearly been through a lot. You’re so insensitive sometimes.”

  Brett raises his hands in surrender. “Sorry.”

  A rogue tear falls from my eye, and they take notice before I’m able to wipe it away.

  “I’m sorry for your loss...and that you had to see that. Nobody should see anyone they love just taken from them like that in cold blood,” the girl says.

  The girl looks a lot nicer. Figuratively, and literally. She’s gorgeous. The kind of girl I’d never get the balls to talk to in real life. This is still technically real life, but this is starting to feel like the plot to some sort of sci-fi show. I mean, if my parents are gonna die one episode in, it better go for at least a few seasons.

  “I second that. I’m just joking around, by the way. I didn’t mean anything by it, but...you know,” says Brett.

  I shrug. “It’s fine. I’m sure you’ve dealt with the same,” I say.

  “Yeah, but we both got home to see our family members already...,” she shakes her head. “But you had to SEE it. It’s not like she was already a zombo or anything, she was just trying to protect her sons. That makes it so much harder, in my opinion,” the girl says.

  “Yeah,” I say, before looking around, keeping my voice low. “Aren’t you worried everyone else is gonna wake up?”

  The girl shakes her head. “Nah, trust me. Between the ride being loud, and making a bump every five seconds? They’re sound asleep. We’ve been talking for at least an hour and haven’t seen a single stir. We’re fine.” There’s a slight pause. “By the way, he’s Brett, and I’m Vanessa.” There’s a short awkward pause before Vanessa inquires, “So, do you have a girlfriend?”

  I immediately raise an eyebrow, with Brett doing the same. “Could you be any more obvious?”

  “IT’S A QUESTION! I hate pauses, and it’s the first thing that popped into my head.”

  I clear my throat. “No, I’m single.” I take another look around, noticing again that everyone’s sleeping. At first, it was nice to get the reassurance that nobody would eavesdrop, but now I’m curious as to why everyone’s out. “What time is it? I must’ve been out for a while if everyone’s already asleep.”

  Brett shrugs, but Vanessa hops right in. “I dunno, we got all our stuff confiscated when we got into the truck. Half of those kids’ parents had to leave them like your mom...but she was the only one that fought back. I think a part of her knew she might pay for it with her life. She must’ve been a really brave person.”

  “Yeah…she was,” I say, head hanging down. “So…are they even taking us to a safe zone like they said?”

  “Most likely not, but I don’t know,” Brett explains.

  Vanessa chuckles. “Whatever it is, don’t worry about it. You and Sam have us now.” She smiles tenderly.

  I wonder for a second how she knows my brother’s name, but I realize that he probably introduced himself while I was still passed out.

  “Yeah. Thanks. Um, how do you guys know each other, anyways?” I ask.

  “We’re best friends,” Vanessa answers.

  I nod. “Cool. And what school?”

  She sighs. “Cranberry Prep. It’s this really stupid private school, about eight miles down the road from your house, I think.”

  “That’s like 15 minutes away, though, including traffic. How long was the officer’s route?”

  “We were in here for about an hour or two before the truck even GOT to you, but there were already like five kids when we came in. I'd say that they’ve been on the road for about a day, maybe since this whole thing started.”

  I think about it. “They called us by name.” It dawns on me. “We were chosen.”

  Vanessa shakes her head. “I’d feel special if we weren’t basically convicts.”

  I shrug. “You’d expect there to be different protocols for this, right? Like, maybe some sort of broadcast telling people where to go? Kind of standard, right?”

  “Did you watch the T.V.?”

  I shake my head. “I saw the beginning of it, but nothing instruction-wise. Probably missed it while...” My mind goes back to my dad forgetting the chicken, and how we most likely missed everything during our attempted grocery run. “Our mistake, I guess.”

  Vanessa just nods, thinking of what else to say. “Um, what’s the situation like at your school? Got any friends of your own?”

  I raise an eyebrow at the random subject change, cocking my head. “Umm…I have my own interesting friend group, I guess you could say.”

  “That’s good. How are they doing despite all this?”

  “Uhhh...” I try to reach for my phone to check the group chat, but to no avail. My sunglasses and necklace are gone, too. And my bracelet.

  “Oh, sorry. Forgot to mention, after the guard knocked you out, he confiscated your things.”

  I shake my head, looking down at the ground for a split second while I realize I haven’t checked in with Astrid. She’s probably wracked with worry. It kills me that I can’t alleviate it by even signaling to her that I’m alive. I quickly look back up, blinking. “Well, guess I won’t doom scroll social media for a bit.” I look over to Vanessa. “But how about you?”

  She looks at me in confusion. “What about me?”

  “You asked if I was single, right? Your turn. Got anyone special in your life?”

  Vanessa shakes her head. “Nope.”

  I give her and Brett a look. “Not even you two?”

  Vanessa scoffs. “Absolutely not.”

  Brett laughs. “Damn.”

  I try to find out more. “How long has it been since I was knocked out?”

  “I can’t keep track of the time in here,” Vanessa answers. “It’s felt like four hours so far, but it could be double that, maybe half. I don’t know.”

  I shake my head. “Damn it.” I change the subject again. I hate not having answers. “You know how everything went down so fast? A few hours ago, we barely heard about the first few cases. Then, two or three hours later, grocery stores start to fall.”

  Vanessa can’t answer. “I don’t know, to be honest. I was at a cheerleading tryout after school, and suddenly this lunatic runs out to the field and chews off the coach’s neck. I just ran away.”

  I can tell by the look in her eyes that she’s fighting guilt. “Hey. Anyone would’ve done the same thing. It’s called a survival instinct. You shouldn’t feel bad at all. You’re still here because you ran.”

  She notices Brett nodding off and gives me a look, to which I nod and allow her to swiftly move next to me. I scoot over to the right edge of the bench by the back door, creating enough room for the both of us.

  BUM-BUM...BUM-BUM...BUM-BUM...

  Even though I gave Vanessa permission to sit with me, I notice my heart rate skyrocket. Probably because a girl’s actually talking to me—a girl that attractive, anyways. The rest of my body doesn’t know how to react, either. Take that information how you will.

  “Sorry, I didn’t wanna wake up Brett,” Vanessa says, cringing a little.

  “No, you’re okay.”

  Vanessa says, “I’m surprised you’re single, for what it’s worth. You seem like a nice enough guy, especially considering what just happened to you.”

  I smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  She lightly squeezes my arm with a smile. “If I seem confident, that’s just a fa?ade, by the way. I’m actually pretty shy at school, and don’t talk to anyone outside of my friend group. You’re first guy I’ve talked to in like a year—besides Brett, I mean” She says that last part looking at the floor, embarrassed.

  “No, it’s okay,” I reassure her, rubbing her back. I decide with myself that acting gloomy and doomy and asking question after question instead of getting along with others and making connections isn’t what my parents would want. So, I joke, “I could kinda tell.”

  She snorts. “OKAY, touché. As if I don’t make it obvious.”

  I make a face. “Yeahhhh, but it’s endearing.”

  She sits back up. “Seriously though, you’re really cute. With a personality like yours to go with it, it shouldn’t take you too long to find a girl.”

  I shrug. “Maybe, but it’s not exactly my sole purpose in life or anything.”

  “Well, same with me,” she replies. “Whatever happens, happens.”

  We sit there in silence for a bit, and she eventually closes her eyes while resting her head against the wall.

  BONK!

  The road’s bumpy, so I offer my shoulder to minimize discomfort. “My bony shoulder’s probably better than cold steel. I think.”

  She smiles. “You sure? You don’t have to put your arm around me or anything. I just wanna get some sleep.”

  I shrug. “Yeah, just lean against me. We both need rest.”

  Vanessa proceeds to lean into my shoulder. It’s still bumpy, and she keeps having to shift to keep her head on my shoulder, so I move my arm around her and pull her closer, letting her lean on my chest.

  She can feel my heart racing, and I think she enjoys knowing how she makes me feel. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” I take a deep breath, allowing myself to sink into the wall and her into my chest, somehow feeling more at peace than I have in...a long time.

  BONK!

  A pothole jolts my head into the wall, waking Vanessa up and causing her to burst out in laughter. “ARE YOU OKAY?”

  I rub my head. “That’s about every road trip summed up. I don’t know why that hurt so much, though.” I press a hand into the metal.

  CREAKK...

  My eyes go wide. “It’s hollow.”

  Vanessa raises an eyebrow. “So?”

  “This entire part of the truck is plated with galvanized steel. It’s not supposed to be hollow. There’s something inside.”

  I scan my surroundings and notice the back door again, realizing something.

  I look around again, taking notice of Brett’s belt. “Wake him up.”

  Vanessa blinks. “What?”

  “Wake him up, I’ll explain in a second. I just need his belt to pry this off.”

  Vanessa nods and taps Brett awake.

  “Whaaattt?”

  “Belt. Give it,” Vanessa says.

  “Why—”

  “GIVE. IT.”

  “OKAY!” He takes off his belt and gives it to Vanessa, who passes it to me. He raises an eyebrow. “Why do you need my belt?”

  “We’re getting out of here,” I answer.

  “How does the belt help with that?” he asks, stepping closer.

  I point to the door next to me. “No handles means it operates on electricity. The electric panel itself is probably underneath the plate for easy access—it’s too big to operate off of basic wiring alone. Needs more voltage.”

  “And my belt does...what, exactly?”

  “Simple. I use the tongue— the small metal part that slides through the loops—to get under the panel.” I demonstrate as I speak, moving it further in. “Eventually, I should be able to...”

  Eeerr!!

  “...get enough room, and pry it off.” I shove my fingers inside, and pull.

  ERRRR...ERRRRR...POPPP!!!

  CLANG!!!

  I wince at the noise, and everyone in the truck jolts awake. “Shit. I expected that to be quieter.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” Sam asks, jolting awake.

  “I’m not repeating myself, so shut up and observe.”

  “Hey, if someone asks, this is all you,” Brett says, smiling.

  I smirk. “Fair enough.” I look at the electrical wiring, and take off the main panel. “Nice. Now I just need to rip off a fuse...”

  RRRRRPP!!!!

  Good. “Now the fuse socket is exposed.”

  “Wow, you’re gonna get us all killed,” Sam remarks. “I’m going back to sleep.”

  “Who the fuck told you to wake up?” I retort.

  “Wait, why’re you shocking it?” Brett asks.

  I point at the back door. “That door opens, just not with a handle.”

  “How?” Brett asks.

  I look around in an effort to ask that question. I need something to act as a...

  THE LIGHT.

  I can use the wiring.

  I look up at the screws, and back at the belt. I could fit the prong—the flat rectangular part, or just flat on this one, specifically—right into the little slots, and take the casing right off.

  I look at Brett, and nod towards the light. “Think you could give me a knee?”

  “I’m so gonna regret this.” He does as I ask, and I step on it, quickly pressing a hand against the ceiling to support myself.

  The edge of the prong fits perfectly.

  I take off the five screws keeping the casing secure, and I catch it as it falls, also shielding my eyes from the light.

  “DUDE!” Sam exclaims, hiding his eyes. “You better know what you’re doing.”

  “If I didn’t, do you think I’d be standing on Brett’s knee like an idiot? Besides, I’m getting rid of this one, so it’ll be even dimmer than before.”

  “Do I even wanna know?” Sam asks.

  “You will in a second.” I drop the casing to the floor, and quickly unscrew the bulb until I think I might burn myself. It comes loose, and I hand it to Brett. “PLACE it on the ground.”

  “What’s the next step in this plan of yours, anyway?” he asks, looking at me once the light’s disabled and he’s able to.

  “The fact that the wires are exposed like this tells me this is an older vehicle. Car manufacturers sometimes fit extra wiring in case of fraying electrical ends, because you can just cut off a few inches and reattach the new ends. I’d be willing to bet there’s at least a few feet in the ceiling.” I get off of Brett’s knee and rip off some of my shirt.

  RRRRRIIIPPP!!!

  I get back up, carefully holding the wires with the shirt cloth. “Moment of truth.” I step down, laughing triumphantly as the wires come down from their small holes in the ceiling. “I knew it.”

  “And now...?” Vanessa asks.

  I pull the wires out further and further until I just barely feel tension as I get to the fuse terminals. “Moment of truth.”

  ZZZAAAPPP!!!

  EEERRRRRR!!!

  The back door slowly opens, revealing the night sky, and a barren highway...along with another truck behind us, its high beams shooting right at us.

  “Shit,” I say, under my breath. “That’s impossible. This was the last truck in line.”

  “They probably heard the metal plate,” Brett explains. “We’re screwed.”

  I shrug. “You had nothing to do with it, right?”

  “KNEEL DOWN ON THE GROUND, AND PUT YOUR HANDS UP!” an official says with a megaphone.

  “Do you think they’re gonna shoot?” Brett asks.

  “No,” I say. “We were chosen, right? We’re not expendable. If we die, their plan dies. If any of us are harmed, it’ll put a screw right in what they’re trying to do.” I look up at the spot where the light was. “Pun intended.”

  “So, what? We do as they say?”

  “For now. Escape is impossible, so all we can do is cooperate."

  I do as he says, getting down on my knees and putting my hands up and I suddenly hear a small noise accompanied by something landing on my chest.

  Psht!

  ptt!

  ZZZZZZAAPP!!!!

  “URGHHH!!!” I suddenly feel all my muscles lock up, and I fall to the ground like a broken puppet. “URGHHH!!!”

  I guess you could say I’m a little shocked by this turn of events.

  I mean, they didn’t kill me, but DAMN if they didn’t get the job done.

  I... I slowly feel my consciousness fading away, and...my muscles...finish contracting....

  I see nothing but pitch-black nothingness. It stays that way for a moment, but I start to see a bright white light that slowly dims, and the blurriness of my surroundings starts to fade and turn into a really vivid dream.

  “BABY, FOLLOW ME!...Me...me...I KNOW A WAY OUT OF HERE...Here...here...,” I hear Vanessa say.

  Wait, “baby”? Whatever. I’m suddenly outside of some sort of prison, or complex. It looks like it’s on fire, which I can’t’ tell if it’s coming from the outside, inside, or both. I can’t tell in the nighttime. Or, is it early in the morning?

  I’m able to get a better look after a short wait, and I can get a look at the whole scene: fire everywhere, a huge hole in the side of the complex wall, zombies are walking into it—as well as all over the courtyard—biting and ripping people apart. The luckier ones are running away, but some are…shooting fire out of their hands?

  Electricity?

  FLYING?

  What the hell am I seeing?

  “BABE, HURRY! WE GOTTA GET OUT OF HERE!...Here...here...” Vanessa says again.

  Not that I’m against it, but what the FUCK is up with the “babe”?

  I try to respond, but as I do, nothing comes out. I can’t move my mouth in general. I can’t move anything. It seems like my actions are predetermined, and I’m watching a movie scene play out in my own body.

  I run to Vanessa, and she holds my hand as we do so, dodging zombies, soldiers, and other teenagers.

  “WHAT ABOUT SAM?...Sam...sam...” I hear myself yell, without even trying to. I guess what I actually say is also out of my control.

  “BRETT HAS HIM IN THE SAFE HOUSE!...House...house...HE GAVE THE MESSAGE. THEY’RE SAFE...Safe...safe...,” Vanessa answers, yelling just as loudly.

  “HOW THE HELL DID WE GET OVERRUN?...Run...run...”

  “BABY, I DON’T KNOW!...Know...know...IT COULD’VE BEEN THE BROKEN WALL, ONE OF THE EXPLOSIONS, ANYTHING!...Thing...thing...” Vanessa briefly pauses and leans in so she can speak more softly. “Listen: whatever it was, it doesn’t matter. What DOES matter is that we get out of here alive, and together.”

  She strokes my cheeks with her hands, and I put mine on her sides. We lean in at the same time, closing our eyes for a kiss.

  The kiss is...really soft. And nice. Even though it’s just a dream, I guess, I wanna keep doing it. Even though I haven’t really had my first kiss—well, no. That’s a lie. I won’t explain further.

  After a few seconds, she gently pulls away, and we open our eyes.

  “Listen. Let’s just get out of here, okay? We gotta get to Brett and Sam.”

  “Yeah, and Trevor’s making a shot for the armory.” I get a look, and say, “Oh, come on. That was funny.”

  Vanessa rolls her eyes before having us continue to run away from the burning complex, deep into the woods.

  “RISE AND SHINE, you little shits,” I suddenly hear. “You enjoy your little prison break?”

  I try to look around and see where the voice came from, but I find out the hard way—for the second time—that I can’t control my actions.

  “What’s the kid’s name?” I hear.

  “His name’s Jake.” And there’s an answer.

  None of these voices are coming from Vanessa and me.

  “JAKE, WAKE UP!...Up...up...” The voice is louder in my head now.

  Suddenly, time seems to slow down to a crawl, and my vision blurs out, accompanied by the blinding white light completely overshadowing my vision, until everything goes black.

  A few seconds pass, and I feel in control again. Like I'm back in my own body.

  Wait, it’s because I am.

  What just happened?

  Was that a lucid dream, or was that the future?

  I have no way of currently knowing what that was. All I know is that when the outbreak started...the zombies weren’t the only things that changed.

  There’s something else that not I, nor nobody else knows yet.

  I suddenly jolt awake, groaning as I rub my chest. I notice that I’m sitting on the bench again, and the metal panel’s been replaced along with a new light. Whoever’s behind this undid all the progress I made. I get that it was a futile attempt, but that was fun. Could’ve left it as it was.

  “You okay?” Vanessa asks.

  “Yeah, I think so,” I answer.

  “Is your chest still hurting?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I admit, as I sit up and see what looks like a master sergeant—based on the military insignia—staring me dead in the eyes. He looks mean and angry, with his sagging, wrinkly skin, gray eyes, and large ears hinting at a foot already in the grave.

  I look over to check on Sam, and notice him zoning out. I look back at the Sergeant, who says, “You enjoy your little escape attempt? It’s cute how you thought that’d work.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “As far as I know, it did. If that truck wasn’t there, I’d be walking along a highway right now.”

  He smirks, leaning in. “You’re a smartass, but I have to give you props. Jump-starting the door with the lights?” He ruffles my hair as he says, “I understand the survival instinct, so I’ll let it slide. But try anything like that again, and I’ll tie you up and feed you to the infected.” He hops out of the truck doors, pointing to big double doors on the other side of the courtyard. They look electrified. “LISTEN UP. I wanna see some single file walking, alright?”

  The whole courtyard looks like a prison yard. Wait, are we in prison? We didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t— okay, maybe I speed like a bitch, but that just calls for a ticket, not hard time.

  I scan my surroundings: giant barbed-wire fences surrounding the place, encasing a protected rec area with a basketball court, card tables, and a garden for homemade salad. There’s a walkway leading up to the gates, and what’s most likely decades-old unused watchtowers. The brick outer walls of the prison must also be at least 60 feet high.

  “And if I see ANYONE getting out of line,” he starts, subtly shooting me a look, “figuratively or literally, there’s gonna be a problem. Get moving.”

  As we hop out of the back and start walking, I can’t help but think about what was in my dream.

  Was that the future?

  Does this prison become overrun?

  Do Vanessa and I...date?

  Speaking of Vanessa, I walk in front of her, staying single file behind Brett. I don’t feel like being shot right now. I’m pissed, but I don’t think my mom would want me to join her this quickly.

  “You okay?” Vanessa asks quietly. “You’re quiet.”

  “Yeah,” I answer. “Best thing to do now is to be quiet and lay low. Not cause any more trouble. It’d make my next move more difficult than it has to be.”

  “Which is?”

  “Don’t know yet.”

  BZZZZZTTT!!!

  We get to the main doors, and they buzz, opening. We’re led to the entrance of a prison, basically, walking past the processing room into a sort of common room. It reeks of stale air and disinfectant, and the light buzzing of the fluorescent lights fills the empty space left by the sparse furniture. There’s a central T.V., most likely from the later 2000’s, with chairs, a large table, and a bookshelf behind said chairs.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Alright, you shits,” the Sergeant starts, “You’ll all be given jumpsuits, I don’t care if orange isn’t your color. I expect you to cooperate and change in the bathrooms. If I see anyone not accounted for within 10 minutes, there’ll be consequences. Don’t test me.”

  “I already don’t like this,” I whisper to Vanessa.

  “I know, right? I know what he said, but orange isn’t my color.”

  I scoff in amusement. “I don’t think you have a choice, ‘Piper Chapman.’”

  After everyone’s changed minutes later, we’re led into the chow hall for breakfast. It’s exactly what you’d expect: plain white brick walls, a ceiling about 10 feet high, rows of tables lined up with each seating ten on either side. It’s wedding chapel with worn cafeteria tables instead of pews, a lunch line instead of a bride and groom, and a gap in the middle to stick out a leg and trip someone instead of walking down the aisle.

  I catch glimpses of the human remains— sorry, food. It’s like coleslaw and a sloppy joe made a deformed baby.

  “Grab a tray, go in line, get your fuckin’ food, and sit down,” the Sergeant orders.

  “No way in HELL I’m eating that,” I whisper to Vanessa.

  “I second that,” she whispers back.

  I cock my head, speaking up. “I mean, I obviously don’t have much of an appetite anyways, so that’s a plus.”

  Vanessa smirks. “I can’t tell if that’s good or bad.”

  I shrug. “We’ll see how it plays out with my stomach.”

  “I mean, if you feel a little off, you can always talk to me about it. I have a tiny bit of a medical background, so I could offer some insight and maybe advice.

  We grab our food and sit next to each other, waiting for Brett and Sam. Vanessa puts a hand on my arm, giving me a tender smile. “But, seriously: I’d love to help. Just say the word.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Why? We just met, like…what? Two hours ago? Why’re you already so willing to offer your services?”

  She shrugs. “I dunno, I’m a naturally empathetic person. When I’m around the right person, I grow close quickly. It’s kind of a bad thing when it’s not the right person.”

  “It’s not a bad thing, it just means you’re a good person who gives everyone a chance.”

  “I guess so. Thanks.” Vanessa leans on my shoulder for a couple seconds, giving me a chance to breathe in her scent before backing off. Part of me was wishing she wouldn’t. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we should at least try to eat.”

  Errrkkk...

  I unwrap the plastic fork, slowly placing a small bite in my mouth. I give Vanessa the same look as she gives me, and say, “Why ith thith good?” It tastes like bland sloppy joe meat, but still tolerable. A little pleasant, even. Just needs some seasoning.

  Vanessa swallows. “That was a pleasant surprise.”

  “Like you?”

  Vanessa rolls her eyes with a smile. “Anyways, it’d be better if there was a black market in here for flavoring packets. It just needs taco seasoning, maybe.”

  There most definitely was a black market in this prison at some point, just not for—

  “That was a hell of an escape attempt,” Brett says, interrupting my train of thought as he sits opposite us with Sam. “I can’t believe that worked. I mean, you got busted, but it worked.”

  I look at Vanessa and shrug while taking a bite. “It appears I have an admirer.”

  Brett winks. “Okay, but, seriously: what’d the officer tell you when he leaned in? I know he didn’t do it in the hot way, so spill.”

  I shrug again. “If I don’t lay low and keep my head down, it won’t end well for me.”

  Vanessa takes a breath. “I mean, we all appreciate the effort, though. It was impressive.”

  I smile. “Thanks.”

  She nods as a “You’re welcome,” and Brett starts another conversation. “Wait, I’m sorry. I lost track of things. Did you mention taco seasoning?” He shoots Vanessa a look.

  She shrugs. “So?”

  “Dude. Absolutely not. Two things: steak and ‘Grill Mates.’ THAT’S MEAT.” He purposely uses a plastic fork to slap some of his meat back on the plate. “This is just recycled horse crap.”

  I swivel my head around to look at Vanessa while taking yet another bite. “He’s not wrong.”

  Brett smirks. “See? As long as you have me around, you’ll be in good hands.”

  “Based on your actions since you’ve gotten here, I think it’s the other way around,” Vanessa retorts.

  “You’re not funny,” Brett argues back.

  “Yes I am, asshole. Now eat,” Vanessa retorts.

  “My God, will you two either shut up or start BONING ALREADY?” Sam says. “You’re giving me a headache.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Boning? Seriously?” I count fingers as I talk. “There’s banging, doing the deed, the ‘Hokey Pokey,’ hitting it, smashing, or even plain ‘having sex.’ Would you like me to continue? I can do this all day.”

  Sam smirks. “That’s what she said.”

  SLAM!

  I drop my hands on the table in defeat, shaking my head before anchoring my head into my hands and groaning. “I hate you.”

  Vanessa chuckles. “Um, anyways, Brett and I actually get that a lot. But we’ve never actually been anything, and never will be.”

  Her eyes and body language are saying different things than her mouth. Her eyes refusing to meet Brett’s as she makes her statements, her throat tightening, fiddling with her fingers, and a slight blush. None of that directly means she likes him, but it could instead hint at an unresolved past of theirs.

  I’m not sure, but there’s a hint of something beyond friendship.

  “Nothing?” Sam asks. “I mean, I just assumed that you’d done something already?”

  Brett raises an eyebrow. “Like what?”

  Sam shrugs. “I dunno, like holding hands?”

  “Whoa there, buddy. Getting straight to the kinky stuff,” I retort.

  He shoots me a glare. “Oh, FUCK YOU.” I laugh in return, and Brett looks as if he’s trying to remember something.

  “Wait, there might’ve actually been that one time,” he says to Vanessa.

  “What’re you talking about?” she asks, obviously confused.

  “Halloween. ‘23.” He gets a blank stare in return. “Dude. Last year, remember? Mistakes were made…” He trails off so she can get the hint.

  Vanessa’s eyes go wide in realization. “OHHH.”

  Now, me and Sam are intrigued. We give each other a look, wondering the same thing: if they’ve kissed, or maybe something more. We’re all around the same age, 16–17, so it wouldn’t be completely out of the ballpark if they went further.

  “Have something to share with the class?” I ask, intrigued.

  “Umm...it might be better if we relayed the whole story, instead of just saying what happened. You’d both judge us unless you knew exactly what happened,” Vanessa explains. “So, it was the Halloween party in our town, last year. I think it was at our friend Melanie’s house, right?” Brett nods. “Um, she said it was gonna be a ‘small gathering,’ but half the school came.”

  “Wait, sorry, how old are you guys anyways?” I ask, before shaking my head at myself. “Well, high school parties are gonna have beer either way, so I guess it’s a stupid question to ask.”

  Sam shoots me an eyebrow. “Why’re you asking about underage drinking, ‘Mr. No-Brakes’?”

  I roll my eyes, and Brett butts in. “You’re fine. We’re both supposed to be seniors this year,” Brett answers.

  “Same,” I say. “Sammy’s a sophomore.” I realize that I should try to comfort Vanessa and let her know she can tell Sam and I anything, including the story behind this supposedly infamous Halloween party. I scoot closer. “You know we’d never judge you, right? We don’t know you well enough to do so fairly. Just tell the story. We’re right here.” I smile tenderly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  As I touch her, all the same feelings reappear: lightheadedness, blurred vision, dizziness. Everything I assume makes up a massive hangover and the flu. Something new happens, though.

  My eyes roll back.

  Moments later, the feelings fade, and my vision returns.

  Well...clearly I fucked up the inter-vision character selector, because I’m wearing a cat costume. I’m standing next to a slightly younger Brett—who apparently had his hair grown out back then—and he’s wearing a shitty cowboy costume. As we’re walking, I sense the same experience as in my earlier dream—I can’t move or speak to my own will.

  WAIT. Is THIS the Halloween party? Am I reliving the past right now? THEIR past?

  That’s impossible.

  Brett and Vanessa, or I, I guess, enter a house full of teenagers.

  “Brett, you look absolutely ridiculous,” Vanessa says.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Brett says, sarcastically. “You know, you’re kind of like a sexier cat woman.” he finishes, with a wink.

  “Shut UP,” she says, blushing. “I hate you.”

  “YOU shut up, you love it.”

  “Do NOT.”

  PLEASE shut the fuck up.

  We move to the kitchen area, where I notice the beer pong group in the kitchen, and the keg stand group out in the backyard. Everyone else is lounging in the living room, playing games and casually drinking.

  Vanessa and Brett’s friend, I guess, walks up to them. “Heyyyy, Nessieeeee...how's it goinnnnn?” she slurs, clearly intoxicated. This isn’t even my memory, but I can still smell the whiskey on her breath.

  “Okay, Nicole, you’re obviously drunk.” Brett says. “And nobody calls her ‘Nessie.’ You’re the only one who does it, and I keep telling you it’s never gonna stick. Now...” Brett reaches for a cup inside the cupboard, filling it up with water from the sink. He hands Nicole the cup, giving her the classic parent-patented look of anger and disappointment; like when you’re getting grounded. “Drink the cup, or you’re gonna You’re either gonna puke, pass out, or both. This isn’t like you.”

  Geez, was my dad in this memory somewhere, too? She’s being lectured like a teenager that just got caught driving home late at night when they should already be asleep...I lost my keys for a month after that stunt.

  “Fineeeee, assholeee...,” Nicole slurs, drinking. “Uh oh.” Her eyes go wide as she puts a hand over her mouth, running to the bathroom. Around ten seconds later, we hear a distant “Bleeeeeehhhh.”

  “What exactly did she think was gonna happen?” Brett asks.

  “I think she just crumbled under the pressure, Brett. You see how many people here have some sort of alcohol in their hands, let alone pong?” Vanessa rhetorically asks, pointing to the table. “And look at the gigantic keg, too. You think that’s not enticing for a stupid, emotionally immature teenager?”

  Brett nods with a deep sigh. “Okay. let’s just go back to the party.”

  They go to the living room where the actual dance floor and stereo are, making a beeline for the speaker. Vanessa picks up the designated Spotify phone.

  “Ew, ‘Head on My Shoulders’? Isn’t that Paul Anka?” Vanessa asks, pretending to throw up.

  Brett rolls his eyes. “Actually, it’s ‘PUT YOUR Head on My Shoulders,’ but yeah. It’s an oldie. A good one, so don’t diss it.”

  Vanessa raises her hands in mock surrender. “Tho thowwy. Am I changing the song or not?”

  Brett shakes his head. “No, it’s a good one. Trust me.”

  Vanessa raises an eyebrow. “Then...what are you planning on doing?”

  Brett takes her hand. “A dance, milady?”

  “Why, yes, kind sir. Please lead me to the grand ballroom,” Vanessa answers, with a joke curtsy.

  We walk to the dance floor, and I stand in front of Brett.

  I already know this is gonna be horrible, because it’s gonna entail Brett putting his hands on my hips. Vanessa’s hips. Whatever, it doesn’t matter.

  “What kinda dance are you planning on doing, Brett?” Vanessa asks, with a smile. “This is a romantic song, so we can’t exactly just throw our arms around and toss our hair.”

  “That’s the point.”

  Brett steps closer to Vanessa, putting his hands on her hips.

  Imagine I faked a cough and said, “Called it.”

  You know, even though I can’t make any noise, you can swear I’m screaming “STOP.”

  I don’t get why this is seemingly a bad memory for them, but it’s horrible for me. Actually, I think Vanessa’s crying.

  Wait...no, she just yawned.

  “Woah, Brett, what’re you doing?” Vanessa asks, a little concerned, and a lot confused.

  “Relax, V, just a little dance. I’m not gonna do anything that I shouldn’t, you know that,” he answers, with a tender smile.

  Ahem. He said, before doing something he shouldn’t.

  “Fine, just one dance,” Vanessa replies, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  They dance for what seems to be a minute or two, and then Brett starts talking.

  “You know what, V?”

  “What, Brett?”

  “You can always count on me, you know that?”

  Vanessa blinks. “Yeah, I mean, I always have. Why would that change?”

  “It wouldn’t. That’s the whole point. I’m saying that I’ll always be here for you, and I'll always hold you during the hard times. I’ve...loved you, since the second grade.”

  Heh. Astrid and I met in the second grade, too. Coincidence.

  Wait. I still don’t understand the bad part.

  Vanessa looks at him in surprise. “You...you have?”

  “Yeah. And I still do.”

  Brett and Vanessa slowly lean in, and Brett takes off her cat mask. He caresses her cheek with his right hand, and softly kisses her.

  AAAAAAHHH!!!!

  AAAAAHHHH!!!!!

  I’M LIVING THIS OUT TOO!!!

  For some reason, a second or two into the kiss, Vanessa pulls away. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I can’t do this.” She suddenly bursts outside the house, running all the way down the street to her own porch and sitting on her swinging patio bench on the left side. She starts to softly cry.

  After a little while, Brett catches up and sits next to her. “Woah, you...huhh... okay? Did I do something...huhh...wrong?”

  Holy winded.

  Vanessa shakes her head, wiping her tears with a sniffle. “No, no, you’re fine. I just can’t do that with you.”

  Brett gives her a look of understanding disappointment, sitting down with her. “I get it. But if you don’t mind me asking...why not?”

  Vanessa sighs. “Because, Brett, we’ve been best friends since we met in the second grade. You’ve always been there for me, like you said. I don’t want that to change.”

  “What do you mean? I'd always be there for you.”

  “Yeah, because you’re Brett. But if we get...into something, I don’t want us to have this big falling out, and lose what we have.”

  Holy shit, these two are a soap opera.

  Brett grows concerned. “Woah, we’d never argue like that.”

  “You don’t know that, though. Couples say that'll never happen, but what they fail to realize is that being in a relationship adds so many different layers onto a normal relationship which makes the whole thing so much more vulnerable. That’s what they always forget, and that’s what always ends the relationship in the long run. I’m not gonna let that happen to us, Brett. I care about you too much to lose you like that.”

  He looks at her in surprise, not having expected her to say something so profound and thought-out. He simply nods his head, putting his hand on her arm.

  “I understand. I don’t wanna lose the friendship either. It actually doesn’t hurt as much as you’d think, because I know you’ll still be the same Vanessa. I’m not losing anything.”

  Vanessa sweetly smiles. “Thank you for understanding. And yeah, I'll always be here.”

  He puts his arm around her, and she leans into him.

  Then the unpleasant feelings from before return, my vision blurs out and turns white then dark, and I regain control of my body.

  My eyes roll back forward and my vision returns, but my head...OWWW.

  I take off the hand that I notice is still on her shoulder—which is ironic now, given that the song was called “Put Your Head on My Shoulder.” Not the same body part, but it’s still funny.

  Either way, I remove it in case I relive some other memory, noticing that the group’s looking at me with open jaws and wide eyes.

  “Jake...what the hell was that?” Sam asks.

  I blink with a face scrunch, shaking my head as the pain go “My best guess would be some sort of acid trip, but what’d you guys see?”

  “You put your hand on Vanessa’s shoulder, and then your eyes rolled back and...glowed. Like, pure white. And your face went totally neutral, like somebody was controlling you,” says Brett.

  I look at Sam, remembering my previous joke. “Now that’s kinky.”

  “REALLY?” he asks. “I’m trying to process how your eyes just turned into freaking lightbulbs, and you’re gonna crack a joke?”

  “Absolutely.” I look over to Vanessa. “How many seconds was I out, again?”

  “I don’t know, like...five to ten, maybe? I wasn’t exactly counting the time, I was more concerned for you,” she answers.

  That felt like an hour to me. I think it was an hour—I took a quick glance at the house clock from Vanessa’s vision. 7:34 when we came in, 8:29 when she ran out.

  “I think we’re forgetting to ask how that’s possible,” Brett adds. “Like, what’d you even see?”

  “This is probably something that multiple crack addicts have said before with the same confidence, but I’m pretty sure I just saw your past,” I say. They all look at me like I'm crazy. “I don’t know, okay? I...I think I saw the party through Vanessa’s eyes.”

  Brett nods. “No, yeah, no, you definitely sound like you’re full of shit.”

  “Even if, there’s still the question of why you looked like you were possessed by a flashlight, ‘Bright Eyes,’” Sam retorts.

  I scoff, laughing. “Bright Eyes? You couldn’t think of anything better?”

  Sam shrugs. “Your eyes were bright—what do you want from me? Plus, you always hit me with the references, so I had to beat you to it.”

  Brett gives me a look. “Again, HOW? Even if you somehow saw something, you haven’t explained anything.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Okay, so a zombie apocalypse, sure, that’s just a normal Tuesday, but glowing eyes and reverse fortune telling is where you draw the line?”

  Vanessa cocks her head. “He has a point.” She looks at me. “But he’s right: we need proof. You do sound like a druggie.”

  Fair.

  I get an idea. I wasn’t there to witness any of the party details, so they could quiz me on what happened. There’d be no other way to explain how I know.

  “How about you quiz me? I wasn’t there, right? I couldn’t know anything. Shoot.”

  “I call bullshit, but sure,” Brett agrees, looking at Vanessa with a shake of his head before turning back at me. He tries to recollect details himself before he asks, “When we got to the party, what friend did we see first?”

  At this point, Sam and Vanessa are resting their heads on their hands, just seeing where this leads.

  “You saw your friend Nicole. As soon as she greeted you, you could tell she was drunk, so you pulled a ‘Dan Scott’ and practically shoved water down her throat—before lecturing her about it, by the way—and then she went to the bathroom to yak.”

  Vanessa and Sam’s eyes shoot open, and Brett looks at me like I'm crazy.

  When Vanessa notices a pause, she looks at Brett. “Well, keep going.”

  “Okay...um...how drunk were Vanessa and I?” he asks me, shaking his head in disbelief.

  I click my tongue, winking. “Trick question. You didn’t drink.”

  Vanessa and Brett look at me in confusion, as if the answer from earlier now means nothing.

  “Why else would we have kissed, unless we weren’t legally sane?” Brett asks.

  I widen my eyes incredulously. “I don’t know, maybe because you were having a moment? I shake my head. “After you scolded Nicole, Vanessa asked you to lay off. After, you guys went to the dance floor to hit the ‘Hokey Pokey’ and shake it all about, then you saw that a certain song was playing from ‘Spotify.’ ‘Put—’”

  “‘Your Head on My Shoulder’...,” Vanessa interrupts, unable to believe it. She looks at me with a smile before turning to Brett. “Holy SHIT.”

  “No, I— I still don’t believe it. I’ll ask again, Jake, how did we kiss?” Brett asks.

  I groan, leaning back in my chair. “Jesus, you want a play-by-play? How about I put on my best falsetto and play Vanessa, and she can play your pansy ass?” Vanessa fails to stifle a laugh, and Brett glares. “Fine. Vanessa trashed on the song, and you told her to respect the oldies. Then, you asked her to dance, and after a few minutes, you—”

  “I kissed her, and she ran away,” Brett interrupts this time, now looking at Vanessa.

  “Sure, just interrupt me,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “And then you caught up to me...,” Vanessa starts.

  “...And you explained why you didn’t wanna risk ruining the friendship we’ve had for so long...,” Brett continues.

  “...Because you’ve been my friend forever, and I didn’t wanna ruin that...,” Vanessa continues.

  “...Just in case we got in a fight, and stopped talking,” Brett finishes.

  They both look at me, with a mixture of disbelief and amazement.

  “Holy shit,” Brett says, copying Vanessa in speechlessness. “I...how?”

  I shrug, picking up my fork. “I dunno, But are we done playing ‘One Word Story’? Because I wanna finish my food. Whatever that was gave me a headache.”

  Brett realizes his own meal is getting cold, and takes a bite. “Any chanthe you could wook into the patht and thee where thith meat came fwom?”

  “Well, geez, don’t undermine me. I can see the future, too,” I say.

  They all look twice as shocked as the previous revelation.

  “You can WHAT?” Sam asks.

  “Damn, leave some powers for the rest of us.” Brett says. “Can you do anything else?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. All I know is that when I dream, I see the future—sometimes the past. But I only saw your memory when I physically touched Vanessa, and I didn’t need to do that to see the future. I’m clueless.”

  “Well, Jake, think about it this way,” Vanessa starts. “You were dreaming when you saw the future, right? And you didn’t need to touch anyone because it was your own future. But because you were seeing into someone else’s past, you needed to touch them—I guess as a sort of tether to link yourself to their memory.”

  “And I thought Jake was the nerd,” Sam says, smirking.

  “Yeah,” I say, head down, not sure what to think. “The first time I did it, it was the night before our first day of school…”

  “When you woke up in a pool of sweat—which will never not be funny, by the way,” Sam interrupts.

  “Yeah, because it was technically a nightmare. I saw dad die,” I say, with firmness in my tone. Sam’s expression immediately turns to one of dismay and betrayal. “I saw myself help dad carry the cooler, and...you know the rest.”

  “AND YOU DIDN’T DO ANYTHING?”

  I don’t like his tone. “I’m SO sorry I wasn’t aware that I’m a fortune-telling ‘Freddy Krueger,’” I say sternly.

  Vanessa and Brett give me looks of comfort, with Vanessa moving closer to rub my back. “I can’t believe you had to see that…twice.”

  I welcome the embrace, with Brett doing the same with Sam. Sammy’s about two years younger than all of us, but he still welcomed it. I guess we’re growing close already.

  “It nearly killed me. When I realized I could’ve potentially stopped it if I paid attention, I...I don’t know,” I say, sighing.

  “No,” she says. “I don’t think you were supposed to stop it.”

  I look up to her in confusion. “What? My dad could’ve lived.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think that’s why you have this ability. I think you can see the past so you get a deeper insight on what people are like with their past actions and how they handled things. Your ability to see the future...That’s not so you can prevent it, but so you can be prepared for it.”

  “In every movie or show I’ve seen with time traveling, they tell you not to mess with events, as it alters the future in a way that fucks everything up. But what I’m seeing hasn’t happened yet, so what’s the harm?” I say, not quite understanding.

  “The harm is that what happens is what’s supposed to happen. You can’t alter the events of your own life—past OR future—because you’d simply prefer a different outcome. You can only be prepared for it, and accept that that’ll be what happens,” Vanessa explains.

  She’s right.

  If I stopped my dad from dying, he would’ve just died in the same way mom did, or he would’ve taken us away before the officials came. But then, we could’ve gotten in some sort of a crash that could’ve killed all of us. Or I could also just be convincing myself that my parents’ death was inevitable.

  “You know, you’re not so bad when you’re nerdy, ‘Young Sheldon,’” I say, with a wink.

  Vanessa nudges me. “Well...you’re cute when you’re doing your little…past vision thingy.”

  “You’re both terrible at flirting, by the way,” Brett starts, “but there’s gotta be a better name for that.”

  “I’m already saying ‘visions,’” I suggest.

  “Yeah, but visions are just for when you see something, like a little glimpse. You saw the entire night play out. What was it like, by the way?” Vanessa asks.

  “Umm…It was like I was you—I was more or less trapped inside your body. I saw what you saw, did what you did, said what you said. It was still you, but I was basically watching in first person.” I think. “Since you guys said my eyes glowed white, that was probably because I was seeing into your memories, your mind.” I quickly dart my eyes to Brett. “But if I watch you kiss Brett like that again, I’m killing myself.”

  Vanessa laughs. “Well, let’s think about it like this: whenever you do that, you’re in some sort of a trance. You’re effectively dreaming. We could just call it that, maybe?” Vanessa asks.

  “Yeah, but that’s when you’re actually asleep. I’m literally playing out people’s lives,” I explain.

  “Time-hopping, Dreaming, Glimpsing...I’m running outta names here,” Brett says.

  “Wait, I have an idea,” Vanessa announces. “How about we call them flashbacks? Because when you have a flashback, you’re sort of playing out memories, which is what you do.”

  “Okay, but what about seeing the future? Completely different thing,” I say.

  “That’s precognition...It has to be a mixture of a flashback, and precognition, then,” Vanessa says.

  I can see everyone trying to think of a good name for it. It’s funny how difficult it is to come up with a name for something that hasn’t been invented yet.

  “Wait,” I start. “How about ‘forecasting’? It’s a cooler way of saying precognition.” Vanessa and Brett smile, but my brain’s still going. “Wait, no—forecasting is seeing the future, but it’s still excluding the past.”

  “Not quite,” Vanessa states. “It can go both ways. Forecasting could be to tell what happens in the future, like a weatherman, or you could mean it as in fore-casting, telling what’s happened before. Get it?”

  “That’s purely word play, but I’m sick of this. Any objections?”

  Nothing.”

  “Well, like I said, you’re cute when you—”

  “No,” Brett interrupts, shaking his head with pursed lips and closed eyes. “No.”

  Vanessa rolls her eyes, kissing my cheek either way—which earns a gag from Sam.

  I smirk. “What, are my powers attracting you? I don’t recognize this royal treatment.”

  “That’s a lie,” Vanessa argues. “Remember? In the truck? I sat down next to you and leaned against your chest. That’s called attraction, genius.”

  I give her a side-eye. “You know damn well you enjoyed that too, but sure. Fair point.”

  “EVERYONE!” the Sergeant yells. “CHOW TIME’S OVER. SEE THAT SLOT IN THE WALL? THAT’S FOR THE PLATES. YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES.”

  I look at the clock, noticing that it’s been a half hour. 6:30 AM. Early in the morning, so I’m assuming the day starts at 6:00 sharp in this prison. That’s fair—30 minutes to eat, getting up at six in the morning. Same as in school.

  We all look to the left of the food line, once again seeing the three-foot wide slit in the wall.

  Honestly? It’s probably to keep people from jumping the dish washers.

  I get up and walk to it, noticing how the trays fall right into the sink for the washers to clean. Simple.

  SHTT!

  CLANK!!!

  I sit back down, making quick conversation with the gang before the Sergeant finds another twist in his panties.

  “TIME’S UP! WE’RE HEADED TO THE AUDITORIUM. TIME TO MEET SOMEONE SPECIAL.”

  Sam winces, moving his finger around inside his ear. “Is it an audiologist? Damn, he’s loud.”

  I laugh. “It’s an entire cafeteria, what would you expect?”

  He shrugs. “Touché.”

  A few minutes later, we walk through the amphitheater entrance. It’s a bigger room, with rows and rows of tables with attached swivel chairs. At the front of the room, there’s a large pedestal which could almost be for teaching a class, and a big white-board behind it, with its matching projector sticking out of the ceiling. It looks like a college classroom.

  The sounds echo off the walls in every direction, making every whisper sound like normal conversation.

  Vanessa and I naturally sit next to each other in the way back corner, with Brett and Sam both sitting to my right.

  “Now that everyone’s seated, Dr. Steyne can explain what’s happening,” the Sergeant states.

  Everyone looks at each other in confusion and murmurs, not having enough information. Before anyone can speak up, a scientist, I guess, walks into the room, standing behind the pedestal.

  “Good morning, I’m Dr. Carl Steyne. I can see the confusion, so I’ll make it simple. This virus, flu, plague, pandemic, whatever you wanna call it, We have the answers. I’ll make sure you leave this room knowing as much as the President himself.”

  What?

  Why would he tell us what’s happening?

  Are we not practically held as prisoners?

  Before my mind can continue racing, he continues, “Oh, still confused? I’ll explain further. You guys aren’t prisoners.”

  There goes that thought.

  “The jumpsuits say otherwise,” a random kid says.

  Dr. Steyne nods. “The jumpsuits are simply a part of protocol. As I was saying, the reason behind the rapid spread is still unknown but we DO know that it’s in everyone’s systems.” There’s a wave of discomfort that suddenly moves throughout the room, but he keeps going. “Allow me to continue. Many people have genetic mutations: ginger hair, sickle cell anemia, and so on. A select few mutations, with the exact right DNA pairing, creates a reaction inside the body...producing enhanced abilities. Powers.”

  Everyone’s looking at each other in astonishment, and a new wave of murmurs showers the room.

  Did he just say POWERS?

  Wait, what does a zombie virus have to do with powers?

  “Still confused? It’s fine, that was expected,” Dr. Steyne says. “Let me explain further. These mutations are the results of specific genome errors such as the HBB genes with sickle cell, and the melanocortin one receptor for gingers. With all the differences, however, it’s currently impossible to tell who can actually develop abilities from any given mutation.”

  Well, that just made the confusion even worse.

  “But don’t go around thinking that just because you have an inherited disease, that you’re gonna start puking fire.” There’s some laughter. “Because, as I’ve said, it depends on what specific genomes were altered, and by how much. There are silent mutations, as well—simple mutations with no effect, like the AAA nucleotide being switched to AAG. These may also cause abilities, but we don’t know anything besides the fact that a small percentage of people with mutations worldwide are displaying these abilities.”

  Brett, Vanessa, and Sam all look at me, wondering which one I have.

  I mean, I know, but it’s not their business.

  I’ll try to be sly about it because I’m curious, but I’m sure I’ll fail.

  I raise my hand, and Dr. Steyne gives me a permissive nod. “Dr. Steyne, could a more cognitive mutation, like Asperger’s, or possibly just autism, cause powers?”

  It’d make a lot of sense, considering that half of the kids the officials picked up known around school for being a little different.

  Dr. Steyne looks impressed by the question. “Well, yes, actually, I believe it’s possible. But there are many, MANY genes involved with the mutations: AVPR1a, DISC1, DYX1C1, ITGB3, and SLC6A4, for example, are all genes that could be mutated—and those are only a few of many. This said, it’d be extremely rare to possess an ability unless the exact matchup occurs.” He pauses, pointing at me. “Good question, though.”

  Vanessa whispers, “You’re autistic?”

  DUDE.

  So much for being discreet.

  I silently shrug in dismissal, and she continues. “Wow. I didn’t even notice a difference. I mean...what’s it like?”

  Are you serious? What’s it like?

  I don’t fucking know, I was born with it. I don’t exactly have neurotypical memories to compare it to.

  “It’s not technically autism, actually—it’s a communication disorder. Had the developmental issue or two growing up, but I learned to adapt. I still have trouble in certain social situations, but I mostly grew out of the worst.”

  “Wow...like I said, though, I didn’t even notice,” Vanessa says.

  “Yeah. And I asked Dr. Steyne, because my mutation was in the synaptic genes—it’s not a typical bodily mutation. My brain being the location of the mutation is probably why my powers are associated with it.”

  “And because of your photographic memory, or whatever it is,” Sam butts in.

  I cock my head. “Maybe, but that’s a stretch.” I look back at Vanessa. “But, think about it: a skin mutation might make a ‘Human Torch’ 2.0, but because I have a brain mutation, I can look into time.”

  “That actually...makes sense,” Vanessa says. “That’s really cool! He said that the combination of genes needed for that is nearly impossible to have, so you might literally be one of a kind.”

  “Almost makes me feel special.

  “Because you are, dummy,” Vanessa says with a smile as she squeezes my arm. “You’ve been through so much in the last few hours, yet you still use that wonderful brain of yours to try to understand how it works. That makes you the most special, and smartest guy I know.”

  “Well, part of that discussion was you. I wouldn’t understand it the same without your input. So, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Vanessa winks, squeezing my arm again with the same smile.

  “So, back to where it all started,” Dr. Steyne continues. “The first cases were based on the Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease—essentially a fatal human variant of ‘Mad Cow’ Disease— back in 1996 Seattle. The…let’s call it the CJ disease, was supposed to eventually destroy the brain and the brainstem, but the scientist was working on a case where the brain stem still showed signs of life.”

  Holy shit, I...don’t care.

  “The brain stem on its own gives the abilities to see, breathe, swallow, regulate digestion and heartbeat, so on. The body can’t normally function without both parts. But the prion, as it was later discovered, had the ability to quite literally take control of the subject’s brain, and allow the stem to continue the most basic of its functions.”

  Get. To. The. Point.

  “The thing is, the prion was capable of delivering so much continuous energy to the rest of the body, that the subject was able to continue moving, seeing, and thinking—as simple as knowing where food was, and how to go to it. That subject...was the very first zombie.”

  I think he got to it.

  The entire room erupts in gasps. I look over to my left, seeing Vanessa gaping at the doctor with a slacked jaw and wide eyes. “Yes, I know. But, again, we still haven’t figured out exactly where the prion came from. We have the best scientists in the world looking for an answer to that exact question.”

  The Sergeant comes back in. “OKAY, I think we’ve tormented Dr. Steyne quite enough. He was actually right in the beginning, though, you’re not prisoners—the jumpsuits are just the protocol here. It makes it easier than going shopping like a teenage girl at the latest ‘Sephora’ sale.”

  PPPFFFTTT.

  “If you get a stain on a jumpsuit, no big deal, get a new one. But if we bring outfits into it, you can understand the confusion that’d cause. So, yes: the food will be barely meeting standards, you’ll wear jumpsuits all day, you’ll follow a loose prison schedule, and you won’t get your stuff back. But this is for your own good. This world is quickly becoming infested by the undead.”

  Great thing to say to a bunch of teenagers.

  “Now, some of you may be wondering: Why you? Simple. We used A.I. to do a background medical search, and we picked up everyone who fit the script for these power-inducing mutations. The reason for no parents, however…” he snorts. “This is barely legal.”

  Loving the confidence in that statement.

  “They’d tear this place apart in minute, and I need to get you guys hardened, trained, and prepared without distractions.” The room murmurs with uncertainty, but also with the knowledge that they can’t bother to fight back unless they wanted to face the consequences. The Sergeant keeps going. “Now, because of what’s going on...I can’t promise you’ll see them again. You’re safer here. We have guards working around the clock to ensure nothing gets in, or out. Things outside are getting worse as we speak—half of you would be dead by now if we didn’t bring you here.” He pauses. “Single-file line. Get your asses out of here.”

  Everyone begins to do as he says, but I have one more aching question. I leave the line and walk to Dr. Steyne.

  Vanessa grows confused. “Jake, what’re you doing? We gotta go.”

  “Just wait a second. You can go ahead with the others.”

  Vanessa shakes her head, walking towards me. “No. I’m always gonna be right beside you, got it? We can do it together.”

  Brett and Sam walk towards us, puzzled. The Sergeant simply closes the door behind everyone else, unaware of our location.

  Dr. Steyne notices me, nodding. “Your mother, correct?”

  This catches me off guard, and I can feel Vanessa freeze, too. Sam— well, he’s probably just as stunned.

  “I’m very sorry for your loss, but it was a necessary decision—as twisted as that may sound. I’ll show you some pictures I compiled once I received news, hardly five minutes after.” Dr. Steyne explains. He then turns on the projector once more, navigating the computer on the side desk to the images he’s talking about.

  One of the images is of my mom’s arm—probably taken by a government surveillance drone—and another is a diagram. “That first photo is of your mother’s arm, taken after she was shot—immediately after you were knocked out. Now, look closer at her arm.” He zooms in on a specific spot on her arm. “Notice that two-inch-long scratch, with the irritation and sores developing?” The doctor points at the second diagram now. “Those sores are a symptom in the beginning stages of the prion taking over a host—and eventually killing the host—to take the body for itself. Your mother was going to become an infected within the next...two hours and a half, maybe three.”

  Wait, what?

  “I’m sorry, but the decision was made for everyone’s safety, however brutal it seemed.”

  Sam stutters. “B— but, nothing ever t— touched her.”

  “No, one of the infected got a decent opportunity,” I explain.

  “What?”

  I remember pulling mom back into the house after dad died.

  “LUKE!!!...Luke...luke...”

  Our undead neighbor lunged for my mom, and I quickly pulled her back inside, shutting the door in front of us.

  Sounds simple, except there was a split second out of the corner of my eye where one if it’s fingernails got a hold of the skin on her arm and subsequently caused the infection.

  I slammed the door shut—but not fast enough.

  My mind returns to the present, and I say, “The same one that killed dad scratched her.”

  Dr. Steyne carefully looks me over, and casually determines, “You have abilities, don’t you? Something cognitive, based off of your questions during my lecture.”

  “I mean, I wasn’t exactly hiding it,” I admit.

  “What can you do?” he asks.

  I shrug. “I don’t know how I do it, exactly. I’m just able to look through time, and now memories.”

  “Incredible,” Dr. Steyne says. “With your mutated mind, you’re not capable of creating simple things like electricity and fire, but you’re able to break the barriers of time, and see into different places IN time. As your powers progress—which I'm sure they will—you may be able to break the fabric of the space-time continuum itself in ways I can’t even GUESS.” There’s a pause, and he inquires, “You have more questions, don’t you? Go ahead.”

  “Yeah, why the whole no-adults thing? I know that the officer went on his own spiel, but I don’t trust whatever script he got that from.”

  Dr. Steyne doesn’t even hesitate, most likely because he has a good reason for that, too. It’s annoying that he’s so smart, because he knows exactly what to say, and knows pretty much everything I’m thinking based on my prior actions and what I’ve said.

  He shrugs. “Well, that was mostly Sha—” He clears his throat. “The Sergeant’s doing. He figured that adults would try to overthrow the place, which would make sense. You’re not prisoners here, but it’s still the innate parental protective switch that gets flipped, so I can’t blame them. It wouldn’t have been a problem anyways, since adults can’t get abilities. We all raise our eyebrows as a subconscious invitation for him to continue. “They can’t develop abilities, physically. I’ll ask a question: How many of your parents have tried to go to the gym, but couldn’t go too hard in fear of hurting themselves?”

  I don’t really understand his point, but I raise my hand with Brett and Sam. Sam and I had the same parents, but Dr. Steyne doesn’t know that.

  Probably.

  “As expected,” Dr. Steyne continues. “This is because as adults age, their bodies and muscles are more prone to injury.. This kind of thinking also extends to the rest of their body: The chemical process which creates the actual ability takes massive amounts of energy, which teenagers constantly have more of, as you need more energy to grow. But, as adults gradually lose that same energy, their bodies give up, and essentially stay normal.” He clears his throat, starting to pack his things. “That’s all I have time for, so I’ll have to ask that you leave and catch up with the others.”

  I start to walk away with Vanessa and the gang, but Dr. Steyne isn’t finished.

  “That was impressive, by the way—what you did in the truck. Manipulating the electrical components and using a belt as a makeshift wedge and screwdriver? That’s extremely complex critical thinking, and you pulled it off in a matter of minutes.”

  I stop, but don’t fully turn around. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Dr. Steyne sighs. “Tested IQ of 173, perfect SAT score—although you purposely don’t do as well in your classes to stay off the radar—highly developed photographic memory and visual-special intelligence, exceptional recall of environments with minimal exposure, genius-level semantic memory, low latent inhibition that you’ve seemingly learned to manipulate to your advantage...” He pauses, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “Jake. You can’t lie to me. There’s a reason I’m in the position I’m in right now.”

  Vanessa looks at me like a whole new person—wide eyes, opened mouth in disbelief, and stiff neck movements. “You’re a genius?”

  I turn around, responding to Dr. Steyne while ignoring Vanessa’s question. “While it’s impressive that you can read off a laundry list of my attributes, we both know there’s more to being a genius than a few word problems and a math test.”

  “While that’s true, we both know you’re extremely intelligent—that truck stunt proved it. You manipulated a seemingly unusable environment within minutes to do what an Ivy League student would take hours to figure out.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Ivy League admissions haven’t been based on merit since the 30’s.”

  Dr. Steyne chuckles. “Fair point. Anyways, what I’m trying to say is that you definitely have a brain. Use it when it’s needed. Not when your ego allows it.” I try to speak up, but he continues. “And definitely don’t try to use it to escape.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “I know what it’s like out there, Jake. If you try to escape?”

  SLAM!

  He shuts his briefcase.

  “You’ll die.”

  Everyone gives each other the same look I give Steyne: “Shit.”