The drive back to the CDC compound felt longer than it ought to have. Long expanses of vacancy were between the few random remnants of society — a society once teeming with life now slowly expiring in silence. Kyle drove hands gripping the steering wheel, rigid, eyes looking to the rearview mirror too often. Not for automobiles. For her.
To his right, Sam looked blankly out in front of him, hidden beneath a CDC blanket that cascaded down from her shoulders like a shroud. Her expression changed from sulky to faraway, jaw hard. Her muscles were rigid in the passenger seat, as if her muscles had not yet decided whether to relax or protect themselves.
The landscape passed them like a ghost reel—abandoned gas stations with broken signage, mailboxes left open as if waiting for news that would never come. At one point, they passed a school playground: rusted swings twisted slowly in the wind, the paint on the slide peeling like old skin. It all looked too still, too posthumous.
"You're quiet," Kyle said, his voice low.
Sam didn't look at him. "You're not."
Kyle gave a sour half-smile. "Fair enough."
"I know why you're bringing me back," she said after a moment. "But you could have told me the truth. You're afraid of me."
"No," Kyle said quickly. "I'm afraid for you."
She turned then, actually looked at him. "You were the only one who treated me like I wasn't some… rabid creature. I thought you understood."
I do," he said, tightening his grip on the wheel. "That's why I have to keep you safe."
"By keeping me locked up again?" she mocked.
"By keeping them from killing you when they see you."
She was quiet. She stood at the window, her shape invisible in the glass. "I don't think like them. I don't want to hurt anyone."
"I know," he said. "That's what makes you different.".
As they approached the outer edge of the CDC complex, a line of razor wire fencing came into view. Floodlights illuminated the entrance area, transforming twilight into antiseptic brightness. A checkpoint gate loomed ahead, guarded by two soldiers wearing matte black body armor. Both were armed with rifles. Both had safeties removed.
Kyle brought the car down to crawl.
One of the soldiers moved forward and raised his hand. The other stayed in the back, hand on his holstered sidearm, eyes fixed on the passenger seat.
Kyle rolled down the window.
"Dr. Matheson," the lead guard said, nodding. "We were expecting you. She's the escapee?"
"She's the patient," Kyle replied coldly.
The soldier's gaze shifted to Sam. His stance didn't ease. "We were told to keep a minimum distance. No sudden movement."
Sam didn't say a word, but Kyle could see the way her fingers tensed in her lap.
"She's stable," Kyle added. "Conscious. Cognitively clear. No aggression."
"Protocol says five-meter clearance minimum," the guard replied, motioning for the gates to be opened. "She'll walk ahead of you. We'll escort."
"I'm not an animal," Sam said under her breath.
The soldier didn't acknowledge her.
The steel gate opened with a deep, echoing groan. As the car rolled inside, the soldiers stepped back, positioning themselves with surgical precision—two flanking the path, two more stationed on overwatch behind concrete barricades. Their weapons weren't pointed at her, but they weren't relaxed either.
As Kyle turned off the engine, Sam made no move to exit.
"I can walk," she said, eyes forward. "I'm not going to lash out."
"I know," Kyle whispered. "They don't."
She threw off the blanket and moved out. The two soldiers braced, taking half-steps back. One's hand moved toward his rifle. The other adjusted his grip on a tranquilizer gun low on his hip.
Sam raised her hands a little, not in surrender—but as if to demonstrate she was unarmed.
"You all look like you're waiting for me to turn into a monster," she muttered, eyes sweeping across the team.
No one answered her.
A CDC technician in a pale blue isolation gown approached hesitantly, holding out a tablet. He didn't get closer than six feet.
"Subject #12-A returning to Bio-Containment Room 3. No restraints applied during recovery. Civilian clothes only," the tech recited, tapping something on the screen. "Vitals scan requested. Full decontamination pending."
Sam glanced at Kyle, who gave her a faint nod.
"You'll be okay," he said softly.
Sam gave him a look he couldn't quite read—part betrayal, part acceptance.
"This isn't okay," she whispered. "But I'll go."
The guards rose in a loose diamond formation behind her, never turning their backs as they took her down the inner hall. Kyle trailed up behind her a few paces, his gut tightening with tension.
The deeper they moved into the building, the colder it felt. Not in temperature—just atmosphere. The lights were too bright, the hallways too quiet. Like a mausoleum.
At the far end of the corridor, a sealed door hissed open.
Bio-Containment Room 3.
She went in without complaint. No questions.
The door shut behind her.
For a few seconds, Kyle stood there, staring at the reinforced glass. She sat on the edge of the bed, swinging legs a little, eyes fixed on something distant.
Still human.
But for how long?