My hand has molded to the knife handle. I
don’t even feel it anymore, it’s an extension of my arm, I couldn’t
throw it now if I tried. I hear nothing, nothing at all—these walls
must absorb sound, there’s nothing to tell me I’m still here,
nothing to tell me I’m still alive but the steady beat of my heart
in my ears and even that might be imagined at this point. The
Semper Fi will leave without us, return to the carrier,
return to the station and we’ll be stuck here forever. Apart,
forever.
And if it’s the bleed…
I don’t want to think about that. It’s not
the bleed, it can’t be. But it’s spreading, my mind whispers. It’s
spreading already—two girls have it now, isn’t that what Conlan
said? How many more were exposed before they quarantined them? He
mentioned Marie, didn’t he?
