#WritcoStoryChallange
#CoronaVirus
Social isolation had forced an eerie silence upon him. While fear haunted his existence, one question was at the forefront.
When was this going to end? Foot steps echoed hollowly against the linoleum floor. The smell of disinfectant over powering as to drown all other smells.

The barren rooms smelled worse than the hallways. Having accommodated many a patient with various illnesses. H1N1,Swine Flu and many countless others that had popped up in just the past few years. Now at present it was a new epidemic, a new fear. It had started in China and according to news report was effecting those of the age of 50 and older.

He hadn't thought much of it at first, why would it. China had been worlds away and he wasn't employed in a company known for travels and out of states business. Still when the first cases popped up within the states it hadn't seemed real to him. The only thing that bothered him about this new pandemic was all the panic buyers forcing so much stress on the supply and demands of the local markets. It was almost impossible to get even the simplest of supplies like toilet paper or even eggs.

He scratched mindlessly at his arm. Having done so over a period of time leaving red irritated and broken skin behind. A trickle of blood dribbled down to his wrist and he made no attempt to wipe it away. Why bother, he tested positive for the Corona virus. Or Covid-19 as society and the CDC had come to call it.

It didn't make sense to him. He didn't travel and he didn't even have much of a social life. What's more was he didn't even fall within the appropriate age bracket. His eyes narrowed with a horrid thought, unless it had mutated even further. Pacing the confines of the small room he made no attempt to sit on the mattress laid out on the floor.

Hearing foot steps aside from his own he turned towards the door. A deep frown formed on his lips as the door swung open. Who ever opened it remained out of sight. "H-hello? What's going on? " he asked concerned by the behavior. When no response came he hesitantly step towards the door as footsteps wandered off.

Peering around the corner he caught the backside of someone disappearing around the corner. Stepping fully out into the hallway he was about to call out to them when a sudden flash and loud pop echoed much louder than one thought possible. Any words he had died instantly in his throat. The silence that followed so deafening it caused his ears to ring. Terror finally ebbed enough for him to find his feet and move forward.

Yet not enough to speak or to hardly breathe. His bottom lip quivered with terror of what he might find upon turning the corner. Still he needed answers and some part of his brain seemed to have shut off at the moment of that flash. He didn't want to think or accept of what he knew such a thing meant. As he peered around the corner he saw a black splattered mass on the far wall.

Bits of bone, flesh and other material he didn't want to think about. Swallowing hard he stepped forward a chill racing up his spine. This area lay dark and he had no idea where the light switch was. A whimper escaped his throat as he approached the now prone figure. Bile instantly rose in his throat and he spun away, dry heaving.

It was a sight he thought he'd never see in his lifetime. He worked to control his mounting horror as he forced himself to look back. Even in the darkened room he could see the horror that lay before him. It wasn't the state of the damaged skull. Rather the state of the mans distorted body in general that horrified him.

The ring and pinky fingers of the mans right hand seemed fused together. Beneath the fabric of their shirt he could see what looked like ridges along the length of their spine. As if the spine itself was trying to extend out of the body. But it was the mans legs that horrified him the most. They were bent backwards but he had clearly seen them walking.

He knew they were dead but he was still terrified to get to close. It had mutated, it had to have, what other explanation was there? None the less his mind refused to make sense of it or accept what lay before him. Tears welled up in his eyes and he stood there crying for a good five minutes. Was that going to happen to him?

If it was than perhaps it was better to go out on his own terms. The thought of suicide sickened him but the fear of what he might become, what he might do out weighted that terror. With a shaking hand he slowly reached out and grabbed the pistol by the barrel. Still warm by the bullet fired. Yanking it from the cooling fingers he jumped back.

As if half expecting them, or it, to react in some violent manner. As he did a folded bloodied piece of paper tumbled out of their palm. His brows creased when he saw it. What was that? With a soft groan he leaned down and retrieved the sheaf of paper.

With both items in hand he quickly retreated to the room he'd vacated earlier. Licking his lips and with shaking hands he unfolded the paper. Written on it was a number and a single word, '093 - resistant. ' He stared at it for he didn't even know how long before his gaze drifted to the number emblazoned on the front of his shirt, '093.'

What did this mean? Resistant, did this mean he was immune to whatever this terrifying strain was? What did that mean for him in the long run and what did that leave him to face? Shoving the bloodied piece of paper away in a pocket. Panic rising in his chest he bolted out the door in search of a way out.

In search of more definitive answers to what now lay in his pocket. If not just for that but for simple human contact. Having been in solitary confinement for the past two weeks had deprived him social, mentally and emotionally. He wanted out first and fore most so that's where he would start. Fresh air and sunshine would surely do his mental state at least a little bit of good.

Scrambling up one set of stairs after another he found himself on the ground floor. A sob of relief escaped his throat at the sight of daylight for the first time in two weeks. Gasping for air past his sobbing he stumbled out the double doors and collapsed to his knees. An almost eerie silence met his ears. Not much different than the confines of those creepy hallways.

Off in the distance he could hear the faint sound of a car alarm. His mind focused on it his brain trying to estimate how far away it was. Could be anywhere between two to five blocks away. Struggling to control his shaking body he searched the deserted street. Was this what it was like to have a panic attack?

Control slowly came back to him as did his senses. As he slowly climbed back to his feet he realized in his panic he'd run all the way out without even wearing any shoes. Still there was no way he was going back in there to look for them. He'd find a shop and look for some as well as another person. At this point in time he craved for answers as well as some sense of security.

Clasping his hands under his arms he started walking. It was a warm Florida day but the shock of what he'd witness left him feeling ice cold. Such a coldness left the movements of his fingers stiff. As he walked the sound of the car alarm grew in volume. It didn't take him long to find its source.

A cherry red corvette sat parked at the curb. Though its siren was going off its light's were no longer flashing. Its battery must be dying leading him to believe it had been going off for awhile. Why hadn't anyone tried to silence it? Heading past the corvette he made his way towards a small clothe shop set in an odd location in a mini-mall.

He walked the short distance down the narrow alley towards its front door. The sign on the door said open so he pulled on the handle. It swung open easily and he stepped inside. There was no one to be seen but he knew that wasn't unusual for this shop.
"Hello, is anyone here? " he called out.

There was no response to his call. Pursing his lips he headed towards the shoes. It was probably best if he got some shoes and a change of clothes before talking to anyone. People would get nervous and ask questions he didn't have answers to if they saw him in these scrubs. Not even caring on the clothes, he grabbed some some brown sports shorts, grey T-shirt and tennis shoes.

As he headed towards the changing rooms he kept looking around in the hopes of seeing someone else. He grabbed an army duffel bag as he went and closed the door behind him. It felt good to change out of the scrubs and into regular clothes. He hadn't realized how uncomfortable such clothing was until these past two weeks. The thought of dying in them had occurred to him more than once.

Shoving the scrubs in the bag he looked at the slip of paper again. Who held the answers to the questions playing about in his brain? Shoving it away in a side pocket of the duffel he zipped the whole thing closed. The shoes felt amazingly comfortable as he sinched them into place. Nothing beat a good comfortable pair of tennis shoes.

Finally already to go he pulled the door back open. Movement caught his eye and he thought it was Connie the regular cashier. He was dead wrong and what stared back at him from the aisle could hardly even be said to be human. Like his guard its knees we're bent backwards. Gnarl crooked teeth grinned out of a lipless maw.

There were so many traits that indicated of a human descent but there were so many things wrong and inconceivably inhuman at the same time. Such as the protursions of the ridged of the spine. And if not for the lack of blood he'd have said its nose had been cut off. His eyes locked with its and in that instant he knew the amount of danger he was in. Scrambling backwards his eyes never left its as it charged forward with shocking speed.

He slammed the door shut in its face and its impact against the wood was deafening in the confined space. For a split second he thought he even heard the wood splinter. On the opposite side of the door he could hear its nails scratching against the door. It shreik furious sounding much like what he thought a baboon would. He slid his back against the far wall staring at the door.

What was he going to do? There we're no windows and this room was more of a closet than anything else. He glanced up his mind racing. It was the only option but what than? That thing was out there and he was defenseless.

The way it charged didn't make him hopeful that he could out run it. Silence suddenly fell and he froze barely daring to breathe. Had it lost interest that quickly? Than like someone dropping a glass on a hard wood floor he heard the latch of the door click. His eyes shot to the doorknob to find it turning.

Lunging forward he slammed into the door as it started to open. Furious shrieks filled the air again as it scrambled at the door and latch, trying to get in. He couldn't believe it. It opened the door, it actually had the common sense the knowledge to turn the latch and open the door. With numb shaking fingers he struggled with the lock.

When he finally got it to turn he felt little sense of relief. He was still trapped with no way out. Covering his ears with his hands he squeezed his eyes shut.
"Stop it, stop it, stop it! " he repeated it over and over again like a mantra. Even with his ears covered it was horrificly loud.

There was a suddenly loud popped and a small section of the door splintered. Spitting little chips against him and he felt a sharp heat graze across the back of his right hand. As suddenly as it started everything fell silent again. It didn't even register with him as he sat there rocking gently still shielding his ears. An even knocking rap sounded against the door which froze him.

To afraid to make a sound. Another knock rapped against the door. This time followed by a male voice, "hey you going to come out of the closet sometime this year? " At the sound of another human voice he scrambled to his feet. He didn't know what hit him first. The fact that something was seriously fucked up here or the relief of knowing he wasn't alone.

Upon flinging the door open he was greeted by the sight of five other people. He wasn't the hugging type but before he could properly gather his faculties he was hugging the guy closest to him. He was shaking and bawling and just all around grateful to have just lived through what he had just experienced. He wasn't sure how long this lasted but a gentle rather awkward patting on his back brought him back to his senses. Letting go he wiped at his eyes, "sorry I-I'm sorry."

The man held his hand up, "forget about it, we get it. Are you alright?" Still shaking furiously he patted himself down before noting the scratch aross the back of his hand. Aside for needing a change of shorts and the scratch he was fine.
Behind the man on of the other men eyed him, "guess you had the right idea there bud. You wore the brown pants."

He looked down not having realized the color he'd chosen and the wise crack from the man. Given the situation he had right to the wise crack. The first man scowled at his companion, "what's your name?"
"C-Christian, Christian Baile," he said licking his lips as he unconsciously scratched at his arm.
"Well Christian I'm Sam, this wise ass here is Ben," Sam said pointing a thumb at the man who gave a faint smile.

Christian looked from one person to the next as he introduced them. They all seemed like okay people but he'd always been the nervous and anxious type so he'd never really had many friends. Looking back on it now with what he was experiencing now seemed to have it's pros and cons. Christian flinched back as Fiona suddenly took him by the hand and lifted his arm up. A deep frown pursed her lips as she studied the irritated and broken skin on his arm.

When her eyes darted up to met his he quickly looked away shrinking under her gaze.
"It's from a nervous tick," Christian murmured holding his arm. Though he wasn't willing to admit it was a recent nervous tick.
"I can fix that," Ben said suddenly pulling out a roll of duct tape. Sam scowled at him a deep frown creasing his lips.

His heart started to hammer in his chest at the wild irrational thoughts that past through his mind as to what Ben might have planned. Fiona grabbed a strip of the duct tape from Ben and ripped it into two strips. Ben drowned but said nothing as he shoved the roll away. Christian shifted nervously watching as she pulled a scarf off a rack and wrapped it around his arm. He silently cursed himself for his lack of control as his body shook.

Fiona said nothing snide or sarcastic in regards to his shaking. Most he'd dealt with always teased and made fun of him because of his nervous, anxious and skiddish nature. Bravery never entered in any part of the equation when it came to him.
"We should get back and I want him wrapped in one of the survival blankets when we get back," Fiona said tilting her head in his direction. Christian frowned looking at her in surprise.

Wait, she wanted him to go with them?! The thought and gesture brought tears to his eyes. He really hated his stupid emotional personality but he couldn't help it. Though he didn't want to burden anyone he felt relieved to finally have some human contact.
"Oh boy look you made him cry again," Ben murmured. Christian softly muttered under his breathe furiously wiping at his eye.

He started slightly when an arm wrapped around his shoulders.
Ben smiled gently at him," don't worry bud we got'cha, come on." A strange bit of warmth courses through him as Sam nodded. With a gentle coax from Ben he slowly followed them towards the door. His gaze drifted back towards the changing rooms.

He couldn't help but wonder what had happened to Connie. As they stepped back out into the streets his gaze darted around. Alert to any sign of movement that surrounded him and the group of people that now surrounded him. Despite the heat he felt cold and if not for Ben's gentle support and coaxing it be very hard for him to walk. His feet had gone so cold that they had gone numb after a long period of tingling that had been so fierce that it had been painful.

"You're okay, just breathe and put one foot in front of the other," Ben whispered in his ear. Christian took a deep shuttering breathe and let it out. He'd never been so freak put in his life. Every part of him just wanted to freeze up and shut down. If not for his current company that's probably what he'd be doing now. That or he'd more likely be dead.

Christian bit at his lip as they suddenly stopped beside a big black van. His gaze never stopped scanning his surroundings. Sam unlocked the van waving for them all to get in. Christian stood there looking at it like a deer in head lights. Aside from his terror his brain was refusing to function and translate properly of what was going on.

From the driver's seat Sam looked at him seemingly annoyed, "get your ass in the van Bambi."
Ben looked at him sharply glaring and gently placed a hand on his lower back, "it's alright to be scared but we can't stay here, we'll be safer back at our place." Christian glanced at him licking his lips nervously. He had no idea where they were going to take him but it was probably better than staying here when night came around. The thought of running into one of those things in the dark suddenly had him moving.

Clambering in he sat down in the seat beside Fiona sitting his bag in his lap. He didn't feel safe letting any of them see what was in the bag. Ben climbed in beside him sliding the door closed. Sam said nothing as he turned the car on and pulled away from the curb. The silent tension in the van quickly grew oppressive for him.

Being surrounded by practical stranger in a van in tense silence did little to help ease his troubled mind. Without realizing it his hand went up to scratch at his now bandaged arm. Christian frowned in surprise when a hand suddenly reached over and entertwined with his. He looked down at Fiona's hand that grasped his and gave it a gentle squeeze. A soft heat rose to his cheeks, feeling himself relax just a little.

It was the first time he'd actually held hands with anyone since he was a child. It felt really awkward to him but at the same time good, comforting. His brain started to relax just enough for him to determine that she was probably just doing it to keep him from scratching at his arm. Though he wasn't going to complain about it. Christian kept his gaze down practically locked on his hand clasped with hers.

Having her hold his hand brought thoughts of his mother to his mind. Where was she in all of this? Was she alright, was she safe? Having lost his father six years ago he knew his mother had no one else but him. As much as he was terrified at the thought he had to know. If he could he wanted to know where she was and what if anything had happened to her.

(I do apologize for such a long wait. had to replace my phone and wasn't sure if the app would actually let me continue on this. But seeing as how it is it makes me happy.)

(W. I. P.)