Chapter 4

The seventy-two hours in that garage were a masterclass in human folly. With the promise of rescue, Matthew and Molly seemed to believe they were on a brief, uncomfortable vacation.

Our water supply was limited, run through a hand-cranked purifier. On the first day, I found Molly in the corner, pouring a full gallon of our precious drinking water over her head to wash her hair.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm.

"Ugh, my scalp was so greasy," she complained, wringing out her hair. "I can' t show up for a rescue looking like a mess."

Matthew was no better. I had a small kit of medical-grade alcohol, essential for sterilizing wounds. I caught him using a gauze pad soaked in it to meticulously clean a scuff mark off his white designer sneakers.

"They were expensive," he said defensively when he saw me watching.

The rest of the team watched them with simmering rage. They were rationing every sip of water, every bite of food. They understood survival. Matthew and Molly understood only comfort. I said nothing. I just let the resentment build.

On the second day, the real test came. Molly developed a fever. It was a minor infection from a scratch she got on her leg during our run to the garage. Nothing a little rest and hydration couldn' t fix.

But Matthew panicked. He saw her shivering and immediately assumed the worst: the Shaker parasite.

He stormed over to me while I was reinforcing a weak point in the gate. "Gabby, you have to give it to me."

"Give you what, Matt?"

"The Cure! The serum! I know you have it!" he hissed, his eyes wild.

He was talking about a single, experimental dose of an anti-parasitic agent I had developed. It was the only one of its kind in the world, our last hope if one of us was ever truly infected. It was our most valuable asset.

"It' s a low-grade fever, Matthew," I said calmly. "We need to save the serum for a real Shaker infection. Wasting it on this would be insane."

"She' s burning up! You' re just going to let her die?" he screamed, his voice echoing in the concrete space.

"She' s not dying. She needs to drink water and rest."

That' s when he snapped. He pulled the same pistol he' d threatened the team with on the rooftop and pointed it directly at my chest.

"Give it to me. Now."

The team froze. Davis started to move, but I held up a hand to stop him. I looked at Matthew' s desperate face, then at Molly, who was watching with wide, fearful eyes.

Slowly, I reached into my pack and pulled out the reinforced bio-case. I opened it, revealing the single, glowing green vial. I handed it to him.

"You' re making a mistake," I said softly.

He ignored me, snatching the vial and rushing to Molly' s side. He jabbed the injector into her arm and pushed the plunger.

Within minutes, Molly' s shivering stopped. Her color returned. She sat up, looking miraculously "cured."

"Oh, Matt, you saved me," she whispered, clinging to him.

He shot me a look of pure triumph. The rest of the team just looked on in silent, utter disgust. He had just threatened our leader and wasted our only miracle on a common cold, all for her.