V-Day: (M-Day #4) (2 page)

On December 21
st
, men everywhere changed, hence why the day was dubbed M-Day. The first sign that something was wrong was the pale blue eyes. No matter what color they had been before M-Day, suddenly after December 21st all men
’
s eyes were a pale ice blue, almost devoid of color. At least that
’
s what was thought initially. Not all men had been infected, just the vast majority. The eyes were still the giveaway though.

Many women didn
’
t survive that day. Whatever had changed the men
…
it made them stronger, faster, and more aggressive
…
a deadly trifecta for many of the
‘
weaker
’
sex.

For those who got away, small groups had formed, for protection, to watch each other
’
s backs. Strength in numbers was how those who were weaker could become stronger. The battle of the sexes had taken on a whole new meaning since M-Day
…
survival meant you won.

Secrets
…

When I was a kid, I used to love them. Knowing other people
’
s and having my own. Secrets were knowledge, and knowledge, especially the kind that others weren
’
t privy to, made me powerful. The more secrets I possessed, the more powerful I would become. And for someone like me, feeling powerful
—
in control, was addictive
—
utterly and completely.

When I was recruited by the United States government to a task force that was so top secret, it was only referred to as S-Ops by us in the know, it sent the same kind of thrill through me. I knew things that most people didn
’
t, and never would, which meant I was special.

I had everything wrong.

Secrets are poison.

Secrets destroy.

Secrets ruin everything.

My name is Vivienne, or Vi, and I
’
ve literally destroyed the world with one seemingly innocent secret.

I dropped my head forward, the hot water beating down on my shoulders and lower back. My entire body ached, every fiber of my being crying out from the unrelenting torment I
’
d been putting it through. I hardly slept, hardly ate
—
hell
—
hardly existed. But I didn
’
t have a choice. Time was running out. It was as if I could hear the clock ticking in the back of my brain constantly.
Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock
…

Steam filled the air, the scent of grapefruit body wash lingering as I sagged against the wall even further, closing my eyes for just a moment.

“
Hey, Doc KitKat,
”
I greeted Doctor Morgan Greensley, chuckling under my breath.
“
How
’
s it going?
”

“
Vi, what did I tell you about that nickname?
”
He narrowed his dark aging eyes at me, trying to suppress the amusement in them.

I flung myself into one of the metal chairs near his workstation.
“
Yeah, yeah. When you stop leaving KitKat wrappers
…
like everywhere
—”
I pointedly eyed several empty wrappers of said candy bar right in front of me on his desk.
“—
then I
’
ll stop with the nickname.
‘
Til then
…”
I raised my eyebrows at him and chuckled again.

Doctor Greensley sighed demonstratively, but there was no mistaking the small smile that turned up his lips. He was a good man and friend. Although I wasn
’
t working with him directly on the Men-V project, I had come to enjoy our little science chats. I worked more with the practical applications of what would happen if his work panned out the way we hoped. We, being S-Ops, my and his employer. Doctor Greensley was respected, revered, but until I came along, I suspected lonely. He reminded me a lot of Doc Brown from the movie Back to the Future. Wild white hair and the kind of enthusiasm for his work that was contagious. Every Doc Brown needed a Marty, and I decided I would fill that role for him.

I pulled myself to my feet and ambled over to the Doc, peering over his shoulder to try and get a good look at what he was doing. He was prepping a slide to go under his microscope. By the dark red smear on the small rectangle I knew it was another blood sample.
“
Any change?
”
I glanced over at the cot in the corner with the emaciated soldier on it.

A few moments passed while he studied the sample. With a frustrated grunt he stepped back from the microscope and ran his hands through his hair making it even wilder, as if he
’
d been electrocuted.
“
No.
”

My shoulders slumped involuntarily at his answer. Germ warfare was a legit threat and a real fear for the United States government. The Doc was working on a way to combat, and possibly vaccinate against any such threats. He was trying to make a virus that would overtake and kill any bacteria, fungus, infection etc. that could be dropped on American soil. The implications for other diseases were astounding as well. The Doc thought he could produce a virus that would live in harmony within the human system, and seek out any threats to its host, essentially keeping the host body alive by killing off any other virus. The only problem thus far was that it was doing only that, keeping the host alive, not curing any infections within it. The mostly dead soldier in the room served as a reminder of that. He was alive, but barely. The upside was that he was no longer contagious. Baby steps, I supposed.

I smiled at the Doc and patted him gently on the shoulder.
“
You
’
ll get it. I have faith in you.
”

Looking at me, and yet through me, he pulled off his small wire rim glasses and began to polish them. It was a nervous quirk I
’
d come to recognize.
“
He
’
s stable, not deteriorating any further, just no improvements. It doesn
’
t do any good
—”

“
Don
’
t worry about it, Doc KitKat.
”
I picked up a wrapper with a half-eaten candy bar in it and offered him the crispy wafers.
“
I
’
m sure this will help super charge that massive brain of yours.
”

I laughed as the Doc snagged the KitKat and took a large bite, turning back to his work.

The pipes groaned and popped when I turned off the water. I grabbed what appeared to be a clean towel and quickly dried off, dropping it on the floor when I was done. It wasn
’
t like I
’
d be sticking around to do laundry. My eyes immediately snagged on the small seat perched on the toilet, one of those plastic ones that parents use to potty train their toddlers. I tried not to think about the fact that a family, small child and all, had once lived here. Somehow, I
’
d managed to ignore the telltale signs when I
’
d first entered the bathroom.

I turned away, swiping at the tears burning in my eyes.
Goddamnit. These are wasted emotions. I can
’
t go back in time
.

A morbid wail of a small child ricocheted around in my head.
It
’
s not real. Ignore it.
It persisted despite the knowledge that it was merely an audible manifestation of my guilt.
What happens if I eventually can
’
t tell what
’
s real and what isn
’
t? What happens when I can
’
t stuff all the images, and emotions into that dark recess of my mind?

With every breath I took, every moment that passed, that dark abyss in my head was getting more and more crowded. I was terrified of the day when everything would burst out. Because it was really a matter of
when
not
if
.

The real question was: Would I be able to stuff everything back in once it escaped or would I be beyond help at that point
…
lost in a complete mental breakdown? It wasn
’
t like I could seek professional help, and work it out in weekly sessions like in the old world.
Nope. I
’
m stuck trying to work out my psychosis all by myself.
Of course, there wasn
’
t even time for that in a post-apocalyptic world. Besides, what would be the point? Eventually, something else fucked up would happen to put me right back at the drawing board.

I stepped on something hard and sharp, which stole my attention as I winced in pain. I bent down and picked up a tiny Lego toy. I flipped it over in my hand, staring at the painted on smiling face and small S on its chest.
“
Superman,
”
I muttered.
“
If only he was real.
”
I shook my head and without thought slipped the toy into one of the zipper pockets in my vest, which was lying on the floor in front of me.

“
Have you ever stopped to think about Global Warming, Vi? It
’
s almost as if the planet has a fever and we
’
re the virus. Maybe what I
’
m doing is wrong. Maybe humans shouldn
’
t have any help surviving.
”
I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, squeezing my eyes shut. Doctor Greensley
’
s words haunted me just like they always did.

The tears that had been threatening finally leaked down my cheeks, dripping off of my chin. Would the guilt ever go away? I sucked in a shaky breath and began to pull my clothes on with jerky movements. By the time I was done I
’
d managed to stuff all of my emotions back down deep, where they belonged.

“
Yo, Vi!
”
Emilio
’
s deep voice boomed through the door.
“
Some of us wouldn
’
t mind getting a shower too. Unless you want to smell the
—”

I swung the door open and smiled.
“
Don
’
t worry, I left you plenty of hot water, pretty boy.
”

Emilio grinned, his chocolate eyes glittering in his movie-star perfect face.
“
That
’
s my girl.
”
He pushed past me and shut the door in my face, his eagerness causing me to chuckle.

“
And to think you all were worried about having me on the team because I
’
m a girl! You
’
re way more worried about grooming than I am!
”
I yelled through the door.

Emilio was one of the good ones. He
’
d been recruited to S-Ops around the same time I had, and we
’
d gone through most of our training together. His happy-go-lucky attitude had always reminded me of my twin brother Ty, which was probably why we got along so well. I may have even been attracted to him at some point if he actually swung my way. Instead he became one of my closest friends in the program. It turned out we had a lot in common, basic anatomy aside.

The last remnants of my smile dropped away as I thought about both of my brothers. If I didn
’
t find them in the next few weeks, they were as good as dead, if they weren
’
t already.
No, if Ty was dead, I
’
d know it. I
’
d just sense it somehow.
Of course, there were worse things to be than dead. At least since Men-V had swept across the world, creating the sex-crazed, brutal monsters out of almost every man it came into contact with. Some seemed immune, but I
’
d be lying if I didn
’
t admit that I sometimes slept with one eye open to make sure my companions didn
’
t turn.
Yeah, the lucky ones had died and never had to deal with this post-apocalyptic world.