Mara
Nothing pops up on my screen, so I set down the old phone with a sigh. Oliver was the only friend I've had, but he probably doesn't remember me anymore. People move on. Especially from childhood friends. It's nothing new, I guess. It's still sad that I don't even know why he never answered. It ended so suddenly. Like he just stopped. Did his parents make him stop messaging me? Did he secretly hate me? Did his phone die? Die..? He could be dead without me knowing, but I can't just look for him. He could have moved away again or gone missing entirely.
I feel like I'm about to cry, but my thoughts are interrupted by a sudden scream and noise coming from outside. It's so loud it makes me freeze entirely, but when I recover, I go up to the window. I still keep the curtains closed, but listen closely. There's a lot of other sounds coming from afar. An endless car horn or some kind of a siren — I can't tell, and someone yelling the name 'Marcus' at the top of their lungs. I try to avoid panicking when I hear the sound of something hitting metal right by the window. I wonder what it is. It's rather unusual, but probably just one of the neighbors trying to build a space rocket.
I finally take a firm hold of one curtain, moving it aside to see what's happening. Someone is holding a small metallic pole in both hands. The window is too small for me to make out who it is, making me assume it's the weird neughbor's kid at first, but then I notice movement and assume there must be other people too. When I look down to the sidewalk, I notice splatters of a red liquid I think is blood. I don't know where it's from, but I need to go outside and see the situation in person. When I look to the left, I notice where the splatters of blood are from. There's someone on the ground, injured in the head so badly they'll probably never wake up.
People start to gather around the ones who are possibly fighting in my yard—This is just another normal day, I guess. The one holding a metallic item moves just enough for me to see it's a boy wearing a delivery jacket. He's perhaps around my age or maybe older. It's hard to tell from here. He has curly dark brown hair and even darker eyes. His pale face is sprinkled with freckles. Next to him, was a man moving stiffly. I really want to see am I actually going crazy or is there an actual fight to death in my front yard, so I sprint from my room to the front door, opening it and peeking my head out ofthe doorway to get a better look outside.
I can now see the situation better. There is actually multiple people moving as stiffly, and the brown-haired boy is trying to keep them away from himself with the piece of metal. Some of the people surronding them are acting completely normal, but are watching as curiously as me. No one is calling for help. They all probably think someone else is going to do it for them. The dead one on the ground as visible bite marks on the neck and both arms. Ouch. That must have hurt. What's with the biting nowadays?
The people moving strangely are approaching other people, but the others don't react fast enough, and some end up having the strange people grab onto their arms and bite into their neck. Bloodcurling screams fill the yard as people get bitten and some collapse onto the ground. The calm situation slowly turns into panic as the remaining crowd tries to run off. Some bump into a van, labeled 'Quickhelper the best helper', parked nearby.
When I fully step outside, the curly-haired boy notices me in the corner of his eye. He sees how I haven't run like the others and turns to face me for just a second before turning back to the others.
"Don't get too close to them," he says so calmly it sounds like he's simply discussing the weather.
I back up just slightly until I'm half inside. It feels safe enough to focus on the people. Their movement is growing more stiff and delayed one by one. Their hands are shaking like mom's hands have shaken since she returned home. Most of their moves weren't too fast, yet they were still unpredictable. The movement delay resembles my mother when she burned her bread because of a pause similar to what I see in these people. The delays and hand movement remind me so much of her. Maybe I'm not the crazy one after all. I haven't been worried over nothing. It's spreading.
Before I can fully recognize danger, one of the stiffly moving folks has made their way to me and is at as arm's length. I close my eyes and put my hands up to shield myself from the expected bite, but when I've waited enough, I hear a metallic clang instead of feeling sharp teeth sinking into my flesh. I open one eye and see the dark-haired boy standing infront of me. Looking down, I notice the danger has been defeated and is unmoving at my doorstep.
"You should get inside," the boy warns me again. I give him a nod and step indoors, closing the door behind me.
I run urgently into the kitchen. I don't look back. I only have mom in mind. "Mom?" I call out. It's left unanswered. Not even movement can be heard. I run to the living room and find her. She's sitting, but not reacting to anything. Even when I wave a hand infront of her eyes, she doesn't move an inch, but her eyes still look so alive. Like there's a person stuck inside an unfunctional body. I catch her blink once. It's all I get, but enough to prove she's alive. After a while, her hand finally lifts, but freezes mid motion. She's trying, and that's all that matters to me. She's fighting, not letting whatever is happenign consume her. She was always strong, and still is.
"Elizabeth, it's me, Mara. I know you're fighting. You need to keep trying," I say to try to bring her back, and place my hands on her shoulders.
"I can't—" she says, but stops. Not because she doesn't know what to say. It's her mouth that won't let her finish it. When she can finally speak again, she surprisingly changes the topic entirely. "Throw away the pills," she says.
"Why?" I ask, confused.
"They draw them in. They're outsid—" she finally says, using her final beath to warn me, before collapsing. While this happened, some people outside started banging on the windows. My eyes fill with tears I try to gatekeep by not blinking before I gently close her lifeless eyes and lift the sleeve of her shirt. The scar on the forearm is the exact same shape I've seen the bites outside, a dark bruise-like green hue surronding it, releasing liquid the same color as the pills. It's when I realize it's an infection. I want to scream, but I don't, because someone outside already did it for me.