MC POV - Interactive Story - 11
Added 2025-07-04 17:45:27 +0000 UTCYou lower your voice. “Ma’am, why don’t we step into the bedroom? It’ll be easier for me to take a closer look at that bite.”
She doesn’t answer right away. Her eyes glance at the bathroom door, then back to you. Her chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths. After a moment, she nods, her chin trembling.
“Just so you can look? Nothing else?”
“That’s all,” you say. You hold out a hand, careful to keep the barrel of your rifle pointed low. “Come on. Right in here.”
She moves past you, clutching her wrist against her chest. Blood has soaked through the paper towels completely now, leaving a dark trail down her forearm. You follow her into the bedroom.
The bedroom is small and tidy, almost painfully normal. A floral comforter covers the neatly made bed, though the pillows are dented and uneven, like someone sat there for hours. A pair of slippers sits by the nightstand, toes pointed together. Family photos crowd the top of a low dresser, smiling faces frozen behind dusty glass. The window is cracked open an inch, letting in a faint breeze that stirs the pale curtains.
You close the door gently behind you. The soft click of the latch makes her flinch. Her eyes dart to the doorknob, then to your hands.
Tears spill over, streaking down her face. Her lips press together, shaking. “Please don’t kill me,” she whispers. Her voice cracks on the last word. “I know what’s happening to people. I’ve seen it on the news. But it’s not happening to me. I can still feel everything. Please, just let me take my son and go.”
Her knees buckle slightly, and she catches herself on the edge of the dresser. Then she turns abruptly, stumbles the last step to a small plastic trash can, and bends over it. Her whole body convulses as she vomits, the sound raw and wet. The stench of bile mixes with the rot of her infected wound, filling the tight space of the bedroom.
