Virulent: The Release by Shelbi Wescott Read Free Book Online

breath or small twitch. Most of the time, the camera cut away before she could see it, but sometimes she was rewarded with the slight rise and fall of an actor’s chest. Then she would clap her hands and jump the scene backward, watching again, pointing out the subtle movement to anyone around.
    It was a reminder that this death was not final.
    But the boy in the hallway didn’t move, didn’t breathe. He didn’t sit up and laugh and wipe away the blood—corn syrup and food coloring—from his mouth and ask if that was it for the day. This was real.
    Her mother’s text haunted her.
    In some way, she was comforted by being at the school and staring at this lifeless body of a stranger, instead of facing the grim reality that someone at home had fallen ill after she and Ethan ran off.
    Where were all the living people? Where were her friends and teachers? Why was the school achingly quiet? When would Ethan come back for her? Her nagging questions changed direction. She now had one singular focus: Wait for Ethan.
    “No one can see me,” she muttered to herself. “No one can know I’m here.” Her hand shook as she raised it to her face to wipe away a flyaway strand of dirty-blonde hair.
    Lucy glanced inside the small rectangular window of a door to a social studies classroom and found it void of bodies and movement. She stepped inside and pushed the closest desk against the door, then another, barricading herself from the multitude of unknown threats with nothing more than cheap furniture. World maps covered the walls, stuck into the thin cardboard walls with multi-colored tacks; a globe had been knocked from its perch on a front table—it had broken open and rolled a few feet and a large cavernous gash extended from the Atlantic Ocean and cut down into South America. Lucy kicked it to the side. Then she climbed up onto a table and tore down an American flag hanging uselessly next to the clock. Using masking tape, she affixed the flag over the small window—blocking the view from the outside. Security on patrol wouldn’t spot her easily and that was comforting.
    On the inside of the door, the teacher put up an old World War 2 propaganda poster. “He’s Watching You” it read, with a shady man peering out under his helmet. Lucy turned away from the figure’s militant stare.
    The large canvas blinds had already been drawn over the large windows, per lockdown instructions. While everything inside of her wanted to peek out and catch a glimpse of the parking lot, Lucy worried that even the slight rustle of a curtain would give away her position. So, she steered clear. With the lights off, the room was dark. Heat funneled through large vents above her, creating a warm, womblike atmosphere, which made Lucy feel claustrophobic.
    Creeping on her tiptoes, Lucy reached her hand up and flipped on the television in the corner. She pressed her pointer-finger on the volume button instantly, lowering it to just barely above mute.
    Then she stumbled backward and watched the images flood the screen.
    The emergency broadcast system ran below—a ticker of bright red, following by instructions. Stay inside your house. Threat origin unknown. Do not drink water from the tap. Avoid all fruits and vegetables. Avoid contact with infected people. Stay away from populated cities. This is not a test. Stay inside your house.
    Above the warnings, a young woman sat behind an anchor desk; her hair pulled up into a sloppy pony-tail; thick black glasses pushed up to the bridge of her nose; she was wearing a college sweatshirt, a coffee stain in the shape of the state of Florida above her right breast.
    “ I’m getting word… ” the girl said tentatively. She squinted her eyes—they darted back and forth as she tried to read the teleprompter, her lips curling around letters she hadn’t yet said. “ That… ” she leaned forward, adjusting her glasses, “ the…center for disease control…is linking these attacks to several sources