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It’s been two months since Uzi’s exile.
It had been inevitable, and though holding her through her sobs had been heartbreaking, N doesn’t blame the colony for doing it. After all, not everyone is like V, J, and himself. She’d be too dangerous to keep around.
J.C. Jenson unleashed a sickness into the world.
Some idiot must have dropped a test tube or something. In a last-ditch effort to absolve themselves of sin, they had sworn to save humanity by any means.
Their promise to fix everything went nowhere fast. Laughable. Their treatises on human experimentation bore meager fruits, and in the end, the only thing they accomplished before succumbing to societal collapse was N and his team.
Now, he sits outside the bathroom with his back pressed against the door. It’s been barricaded shut, more for Uzi’s protection than his own. It’s not like she can infect him. Inside, he hears her scuttling around and wheezing. The noises border on animalistic.
Some mornings she’s more lucid than others. To his dismay, mornings of low lucidity have become more frequent. He wonders if the grief from her exile has expedited her sickness. Is she losing the will to fight it? The thought saddens him, so he pushes it away.
Thankfully, a distraction enters the room right then. V and J, both splattered with blood, come strolling in. The blood is warm, fresh, and soaked into their clothing. From a distance, one might mistake them for having rich, crimson hair rather than the platinum color they both share with N. They leave a smattering of footprints on the carpet, reminiscent of those mats used to learn dance steps.
They're making a mess, but the house was old and abandoned when they found it, already in complete disarray. A few bloodstains are the least of its problems.
“Welcome back!” N chirps, waving at the pair. “How’d the hunt go?”
“You’d know if you ever tagged along,” J sneers. She glares so coldly at N that he's sure his heart stops beating. His terrified expression must be especially delightful today, because she seems satisfied without berating him further. She turns and skulks away to do whatever she does in her free time. She never talks about it, so nobody asks. He watches her go with his knees drawn into his chest.
Once J is out of earshot, V clears her throat. “It went well,” she says, gesturing at her body. She’s dripping with the evidence. Her tone wields a sharp edge, each word punchy and sardonic, but N doesn't feel intimidated. He gives her a beaming grin
The effect is immediate. Like a switch has been flipped, her scowl melts and her shoulders relax. With a softer look, she produces a water bottle from her bag. It’s filled to the cap with thick, mouthwatering blood. She tosses it to N. “You live another day,” she says.
He fumbles the container, startling them both. He barely avoids spilling it. J already hates that he doesn’t kill for himself; if he wasted a drop of their precious medicine, he’d be lapping his own blood up from the dirty floor. He clutches the bottle to his chest with a tepid sigh. “Thanks, V…”
She struts over and takes a seat next to him. “Be careful, moron.” She doesn’t bother cleaning herself off, leaving red on N’s coat where their shoulders brush. “How’s our little prisoner doing?” she jokes. “I got her some too, if she needs any.”
“J didn’t see you, did she?”
V huffs. “You know she didn’t. I’m careful.”
Somehow, J has tolerated Uzi’s presence. Lukewarm disdain etches onto her face any time the topic of their infected housemate comes up, but no move has been made to evict her. N doesn’t know what’ll happen if she learns they’ve been sneaking her blood, though. Blood that’s supposed to be keeping them alive.
“Alright. Thank you,” he says. “And, yes, I think she might.” On cue, a clatter comes from inside the bathroom, then a hissing snarl. V raises her eyebrows at the noise. “It’s bad today,” N mumbles.
A bang followed by a manic laugh makes N wonder what the heck she’s even doing in there. Punching the wall? Slamming the medicine cabinet? There isn’t much in there she could be making such a ruckus with. He pictures her crouched on all fours, tearing up everything she can get her hands on, her face twisted like some mischievous critter.
It’s almost an endearing thought, all things considered. Uzi did always have a penchant for destruction.
V’s gaze drifts between N and the door a few times. She presses her lips into a line. “You know, N…” she says reluctantly. Her voice takes on an arduous quality, like she’s forcing a rose bush up her esophagus. She taps her fingers against the floor, using the tips of her long, claw-like nails.
“Yes?” N says with a frown.
Something uncertain is trapped behind V’s eyes. Something wistful, and unlike her usual boisterous self. She’s staring pointedly at the door, as though she’s looking right through it. N watches her clench her jaw.
He’s sweating bullets by the time she shakes her head, her nerve apparently lost. “Never mind. It’s uh—yeah, never mind.”
“Okay.” It’s not really okay, he can tell.
Regardless, V quickly finds her energy. Her lips curl into something familiarly impish, and stars dance in her yellow irises. “You ready to feed the freak?”
He nods, though he's never totally ready. Thankfully, it’s V’s turn to restrain her. He never enjoys doing that. His back is still healing from last time.
Swiftly, he downs his share of blood. It’s so tangy and sweet that he forgets to feel disgusted by it. He’s become more and more comfortable with this, which itself is disquieting. He barely remembers his life from before the plague, but he knows blood isn’t supposed to taste so divine. He makes a bit of a mess, dribbles of red rolling down his chin.
V wipes a trickle of it from the corner of his lip with her thumb, then pops it into her mouth. She shoots him a wry smirk in response to the flustered ‘eep’ he makes.
The apocalypse must not be so bad if V can find the time to make his heart skip.
They work together to take down the barricade. A pile of furniture and debris fills the hallway. Then, V retrieves the extra bottle she smuggled from her bag and passes it to N. She sets her hand on the knob. Standing in front, she tosses a meaningful glance over her shoulder. “Ready?”
“Ready as I ever am,” he murmurs.
The door creaks open like a horror movie; a slow, eerie whine that sounds like a weeping spirit tickles their ears. It’s dark, but light from the hallway leaks in and spills across the floor. Dingy off-yellow cascades into the bathroom and illuminates the silhouette of Uzi Doorman, who’s curled into a feral shape. Her head snaps toward them, her eyes lifeless and her teeth bared. Acrid, infectious rot has begun to creep across her face.
It's ghastly. It forces N to confront the reality that she isn’t like them. Her skin splits and oozes gross ichor. Blood is becoming less effective at staving off her illness. She's getting worse, and it's spreading faster.
N's chest hurts.
He isn’t given time to sit in that despair, however. Uzi barrels toward them. There’s wild intent in her eyes, crazed and vicious, but scared, like a cornered predator. She looks ready to tear them both to shreds. V intercepts her, allowing Uzi to tumble into her with a thud.
She wraps Uzi in her arms and restrains her as she wiggles and wails. Frantic teeth are plunged into V’s shoulder, earning a grunt and a swear.
“N, come on!” V shouts, her voice harsh. “What are you waiting for?!”
“Right! R-Right,” N uncaps the bottle with shaky hands. He approaches the girls, one tearing into the other with her nails, drawing red rivulets. V ducks her head into Uzi’s chest and locks her arms around the small of her back. N thinks he hears her whisper something to Uzi, but he doesn't know what.
He takes a deep breath and, in a quick motion, jams his thumb into Uzi's mouth to force it open. And before she can try to bite his finger off, he gets the bottle in and unloads its contents down her throat. She makes a choking, sputtering sound, like she’s drowning in it. Slowly, however, the fight leaves her body.
Seconds turn to minutes until finally, she relaxes. Her full weight slumps into V.
Labored breathing fills the quiet until Uzi stirs. She looks dazed, but much more herself. The fog dissipates from her eyes and she focuses her breathing. Her fingers are white-knuckled. She clutches onto V's jacket until she remembers where she is. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, wanting to say something but distracted by the taste of fresh slaughter.
N speaks for her, “Hey buddy… how’re you feeling?”
She grimaces. She drags her hands down her face and barely reacts to V’s blood being smeared across her skin. “Shitty,” she finally says, her voice scratchy and raw.
“Join the club,” V snarks, sitting back with her palms against the floor. She winces, probably sore from Uzi's attacks.
Uzi flickers her gaze between the two of them, something inscrutable but undeniably sad written on her features. “Did I hurt either of you? Well, badly.” The question has become uncomfortably routine.
Everyone’s still in one piece, at least. They both shrug, and N offers a timid thumbs up. Uzi nods, but her spirits don’t get any higher. She makes a small, weary sound and pulls away. She drags herself across the floor and leans back against the side of the tub. In the darkness, N can’t tell if it’s sweat or tears that are streaking down her face.
In the beginning, Uzi would feel right as rain after a feeding. She’d taunt them and banter with them. Joke and flirt. They could almost pretend nothing had changed since she got sick. These days, she just seems tired. So unbelievably tired.
V crawls across the tiles and sits next to her. Uzi doesn’t complain or scoot away, so N follows suit. Nobody says anything. N wishes the silence was warm and comfortable, as it once might have been.
At some point, Uzi dozes off. She must be exhausted. It’s been nearly a week since her last feeding, and nobody sleeps when they're turned. She rests her head on V’s shoulder, her purple hair gathering flecks of blood off V's jacket. Her fingers intertwine with N’s.
They stay with her for almost an hour before it's time to go. V practically has to tear N away from her, though. He picks her up and hefts her gently into the bathtub. He shrugs off his coat and balls it up for her to use as a pillow. It’s not much, but he hopes she can sleep comfortably.
They close the bathroom door and begin to pile the barricade back into place. Once they’re finished, they both sink to the floor with their backs against the wall. Dread hangs over their heads.
“N…” V starts, and immediately N's stomach drops. “We need to talk about Uzi.”
N chews the inside of his cheek. He squeezes his fists, leaving crescent moons on his palms. “What about her?”
“You know what about,” V bites back. She squints at him, causing him to shrink away. “I’m not saying this to be an ass,” she emphasizes, her peeved-off expression crumbling into something doleful. “I just… like, sure, it’s weird that she’s lasted this long. She’s obviously tough. But she’s not like us, N. At some point we’re going to have to let her go.”
“But she’ll—”
“Die? Be killed?” V shakes her head. “You saw her skin, N. She’s literally rotting. It’s taking more blood to bring her back, and it’s wearing off more quickly, and even when she is herself, she’s too exhausted and miserable to say more than a couple of sentences.” She swallows thickly. “Once someone’s fully turned, they’re basically dead anyway. We can’t keep doing this to her.”
“V…” N starts to plead, but she cuts him off.
“I know. Listen, next time we’re with her, and she’s in her right mind, we’ll talk to her about this. Okay? We have to.”
He wants to cry, but he nods. There's nothing else he can do.
“Good. Now come on you lug, let's get our minds off this. The apocalypse needs a little levity, or we’ll all lose our minds. Wanna throw rocks at beer bottles, or something?”
He agrees, though he isn’t in the mood for games; he doesn’t have the energy to fight her on this. In any case, he can tell she’s upset too, by the way her eyebrows pinch and her smile frays at the edges. If she can put on a happy face for the sake of their sanity, then so can he. She offers her hand, and he takes it, and she leads him outside.
They ignore what sounds like sobbing from the bathroom.
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