Chapter 3

John Miller, Alex's father, cleared his throat, his gaze shifty.

"Alex," he began, the rifle in Mark's hands giving his words a grim authority, "we've discussed this. As a family."

Alex waited, a cold dread spreading through him.

"You understand, son," John continued, avoiding Alex's eyes, "the town is terrified. We can't risk an outbreak. Not after everything."

"I told you, I'm immune," Alex repeated, his patience wearing thin. "Dr. Peterson is on his way here right now to confirm it. To honor me for it."

Mark scoffed. "Honor you? For what? Bringing death to our doorstep?"

"The family has decided," John said, his voice gaining a false firmness. "For the good of Havenwood, and for us."

He paused, then delivered the ultimatum.

"You have two choices, Alex."

"One: you 'voluntarily' go to the old ranger station in Blackwood National Forest. We'll give you some supplies."

The Blackwood. Treacherous, abandoned. A death sentence in winter, even with supplies.

"Or two," John continued, "you 'do the right thing for the community' and let us lock you in the old town jail. To await proper containment."

The jail. A filthy, unhygienic hole. Rumor had it, people went in, but they didn't come out, especially not during the height of the flu scares.

Alex stared at his father, then at Mark, whose lips curled into a slight, satisfied smirk.

Sarah looked away, clutching her stomach. His mother wrung her hands.

"So, exile or a slow death in a cage," Alex said, his voice flat. "That's your welcome home?"

"It's for the best, son," Mary whispered, tears streaming down her face. "We can't take chances."

"Chances?" Alex felt a surge of cold anger. "I am the reason you even have a chance! My blood, my immunity, it' s in the vaccine that saved millions!"

They looked at him with blank, uncomprehending fear.

The weight of his sacrifice, his unacknowledged heroism, pressed down on him, suffocating.

They didn't see a hero. They saw a threat.

Their son, their brother, their husband – disposable.