exanimateThe people outside the prison could pretend that the dead weren't walking if they wanted to. That sort of bullshit was the province of the free. Once you were behind bars, counting on other people to bring you food, water, hell, to let you go to the bathroom like a human being...you couldn't lie to yourself. And the dead were walking.
So far, there hadn't been any outbreaks in Brandon's wing, but he knew better than to attribute that to anything beyond pure dumb luck. Whatever caused some people to get sick and die and then get up again without being bitten just hadn't found a way inside the building. It would. All it needed was a little more time, and it would.
Brandon was sitting on his bed and staring at his hands, wondering if he'd ever see Hazel again, when the door of his cell slid open. He raised his head, and found himself looking at one of the prison guards—one of the only guards who was still bothering to show up for work.
"You've got a visitor, Majors," said the guard, and gestured roughly for him to stand. Brandon had learned the virtue of obedience. It was practically the first lesson that the prison taught. He stood, moving quickly to avoid a reprimand. Never doing anything to earn a reprimand, that was the second lesson.
There had been other lessons since then. None of them had been pleasant ones.
The guard led Brandon through the halls without a word. Some of the prisoners shouted threats or profanity as they passed; Brandon's role in the Mayday Army was well-known, and was the reason he was given his own cell, and not allowed to mingle with the general prison population. As the situation got worse, his future looked more and more bleak. Outside the prison, he would probably have already been lynched. As if it was his fault somehow? That bastard Kellis was the one who built the bug. He should be the one getting the blame, not Brandon—
The guard led him around the corner to the visiting room. There were only two men standing there. One was the warden. The other was a slim, dark-haired man Brandon felt like he should recognize. Something about him was familiar.
"Brandon Majors?" asked the man.
"Yes?" Maybe he was from the governor. Maybe he had come to pardon Brandon, and take him away from all this; maybe he understood that it wasn't his fault—
"My name is Alexander Kellis."
Hope died. Brandon stared at him. "I...you...oh, God."
Alexander looked at Brandon—the little ringleader who had managed to bring about the end of the world, the one whose name was already dropping out of the news, to be replaced by Alexander's own—and said, very quietly, "I wanted to meet you. I wanted to look you in the eye while I told you that this is all your fault. History may blame it on me, but neither of us is going to be there to see it, and right here, right now, today, this is all your fault. You destroyed my life's work. You killed the man I loved. You may very well have brought about the end of the world. So I have just one question for you."
"What?" whispered Brandon.
"Was it worth it?" After five minutes passed with no answer, Dr. Kellis turned to the warden. "Thank you. I'd like to go now." They walked away, leaving Brandon standing frozen next to the guard.
That night, Brandon's cell was somehow left unlocked. The next morning, he would be found dead in the hall. None of the other inmates saw what happened. At least, that's what they said, and this one time, the warden chose to believe them. It wasn't his fault, after all.
***
Please return to your homes. Please remain calm. This is not a drill. If you have been infected, please contact authorities immediately. If you have not been infected, please remain calm. This is not a drill. Please return to your homes...
When will you Rise?
May 26 2011, 02:15:36 UTC 6 years ago