Chapter 5:
The Barcode
The girl's grip was iron-tight around my wrist, her fingers digging into my skin like she was afraid I'd vanish if she let go. I could feel the bite of her nails, the way her pulse thrummed against mine—fast, frantic, a trapped bird fluttering beneath her skin. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts, fogging the cold air between us, and I could smell the sour tang of fear on her, mixed with something metallic, like old pennies. Blood.
Up close, I could see the resemblance—the same sharp cheekbones as Rina, the same stubborn set to her jaw. But where Rina's eyes had been warm and bright, full of mischief and quiet rebellion, Nia's were wide with a feral kind of terror, darting between me and the mouth of the alley like a hunted animal. The whites of her eyes were veined with red, her pupils blown so wide they nearly swallowed the irises whole.
She hasn't slept in days.
The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.
"We can't stay here," she hissed, tugging me forward with a strength that surprised me. "They'll be back."
I didn't ask who they were. I already knew.
The alley stank of rotting food and piss, the walls slick with something I didn't want to identify. Something that glistened under the flickering neon sign of a long-dead bar. My boots slipped on wet pavement as Nia dragged me deeper into the shadows, her movements quick and practiced. She moved like someone who'd spent too long learning how to disappear, how to fold herself into the dark corners of the world where no one would think to look.
And that scared me more than anything.
"How did you find me?" I whispered, my voice barely louder than the distant drip of water from a broken pipe.
She didn't answer. Not directly. Instead, she lifted the hem of her shirt again, revealing the barcode inked into her ribs. The numbers were identical to mine. Same font, same placement, same jagged scar cutting through the middle like a strike-through.
Property of HelixMed.
My stomach lurched, bile rising in my throat.
"They tagged us," Nia said, voice low, rough, like she'd been screaming for hours. "All of us. The 'immune.'" She spat the word like it was poison. "Rina figured it out before they took her. She sent me a message—told me to run. Told me to find you."
The horn sounded again, closer this time. The note was wrong. Too deep, too resonant, like it was vibrating through the bones of the city itself. It wasn't mechanical. It wasn't human. It was something else, something that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
Nia flinched, her grip tightening to the point of pain.
"We need to move. Now."
I hesitated, glancing back toward the tunnel. "Milo—"
"Is either dead or smart enough to stay that way." Her voice cracked, raw with something that sounded like grief. "You want to join him?"
The choice was a knife in my ribs. But she was right.
We ran.
***
The city had become a funhouse mirror of itself—familiar shapes twisted into something grotesque. Storefronts were boarded up, glass glittering like teeth on the sidewalks. Cars sat abandoned in the middle of the street, doors hanging open as if their occupants had simply evaporated. One vehicle, a blue sedan, had its windshield shattered, the steering wheel crusted with something dark and flaking.
Blood.
And above it all, the sky pulsed that same sickening red, the color seeping into everything like a stain. It wasn't natural. It wasn't sunset. It was something else, something alive, and it made my skin crawl.
Nia moved like a ghost, darting between cover with a precision that spoke of practice. She knew every broken window, every overturned dumpster, every shadow just deep enough to hide in. I followed, my lungs burning, my backpack thumping against my spine with every step. The laptop inside felt heavier than it should have, like it was filled with lead instead of secrets.
We rounded a corner and nearly collided with a body.
I stifled a gasp. The man, at least, I thought it had been a man, was sprawled across the sidewalk, his limbs bent at angles that made my joints ache in sympathy. His skin was gray, stretched too tight over bones that seemed too sharp, too wrong. And his face...
"Don't look," Nia muttered, yanking me past.
But I'd already seen.
His mouth was frozen in a silent scream, lips peeled back from teeth that had grown too long, too pointed. And his eyes were red.
Just like Rina's.
I stumbled, bile rising in my throat. Nia didn't slow.
"What was that?" I choked out.
"Stage Three." Her voice was flat, empty. "The virus rewrites you. Turns you into one of them."
"The Antlers?"
She shook her head. "Worse."
A siren wailed in the distance, cutting off any further questions. Nia cursed under her breath and veered sharply left, pulling me into the gap between two buildings. The space was narrow, barely wide enough to squeeze through sideways, but she navigated it with ease, her body pressed flush against the brick.
At the end of the passage, a rusted fire escape ladder hung just out of reach. Nia jumped, caught the bottom rung, and hauled herself up with a grunt. She leaned down, offering me a hand.
"Come on."
I grabbed her wrist, my boots scrambling for purchase on the slick brick. The metal groaned under my weight, but held.
The rooftop was a graveyard of broken satellite dishes and discarded needles, the tarpaper sticky underfoot. Nia didn't pause, heading straight for the far edge where the next building stood close enough to jump.
"You've done this before?" I panted.
She didn't smile. "Every night for the past week."
The gap between buildings was wider than it looked. My stomach dropped as I leapt, the backpack unbalancing me midair. I landed hard, knees buckling, palms scraping against gravel. Nia hauled me up before I could catch my breath.
"Keep moving."
We crossed three more rooftops before she finally stopped at the edge of an old laundromat, its sign flickering weakly in the gloom. Below us, the street was empty. No drones, no Antlers, just the occasional scrap of paper skittering across the pavement like a wounded bird.
Nia crouched, rummaging in her pocket before pulling out a key. She wedged it between two loose bricks, prying one free to reveal a hollow space behind it. Inside was a plastic bag, stuffed to bursting.
"Supplies," she said, tossing it to me. "Food, water, ammo."
I unzipped it. The "ammo" was a handful of rusty nails and a makeshift slingshot.
"You're joking."
She gave me a look that said do I look like I'm joking? before pulling out a rolled-up map. It was hand-drawn, the lines shaky but precise, marked with symbols I didn't recognize.
"We're here," she said, tapping a spot near the center. "Safe house is here." She pointed to a building on the outskirts, circled in red. "It's an old auto shop. Underground. They don't know about it yet."
"They?"
"Helix. The Antlers. The fucking government." She spat the word like it was a curse. "They're all the same now."
I studied the map. The route was convoluted. Through alleys, across rooftops, even through a stretch of sewer tunnels marked with a skull and crossbones.
"Why not just leave the city?"
Nia's laugh was hollow. "You haven't tried yet, have you?"
I hadn't.
She shook her head. "Checkpoints. Snipers. They're not letting anyone out. Not alive, anyway."
The horn sounded again, closer this time. Nia stiffened, her head snapping toward the sound.
"We're out of time." She stuffed the map back into the bag and shoved it into my hands. "Stay close. And if I tell you to run, you run. Don't look back."
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words died as a shadow moved at the far end of the street.
Tall.
Black-clad.
Antlered.
Nia didn't wait. She grabbed my arm and yanked me backward, just as the figure's head swiveled toward us.
We ran.
***
The safe house was a corpse of a building, its windows boarded up, its walls tagged with fading graffiti. The door was steel, reinforced with a crossbar that looked like it had been salvaged from a prison.
Nia knocked three times, paused, then twice more.
A slit opened at eye level. A pair of bloodshot eyes peered out.
"Password."
Nia didn't hesitate. "The sky bleeds at midnight."
The eyes narrowed. Then the crossbar lifted with a metallic screech.
Inside, the air was thick with the smell of sweat and gasoline. A single lantern hung from the ceiling, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The space was crowded. Maybe a dozen people huddled in small groups, their faces gaunt, their eyes hollow.
And every single one of them had a barcode.
A man stepped forward, his arms crossed over his chest. He was older, his dark skin lined with scars, his hair streaked with gray.
"You're late," he said, voice rough.
Nia shrugged. "Had to pick up a stray."
All eyes turned to me.
The man studied me for a long moment before nodding. "Lin, right? Catara?"
I stiffened. "How do you know my name?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Because you're the reason we're all here."
He turned, gesturing to the far wall.
A corkboard stretched from floor to ceiling, covered in photos, newspaper clippings, and pages of handwritten notes. Strings connected them in a web that made my head spin.
And at the center...
My employee ID photo.
Next to it, a single word in bold red letters:
CURE
The man—I still didn't know his name—stepped closer.
"Welcome to the resistance," he said.