The Beginning of The End Copyright 2012 AnQi Yu

Our hackers revealed late last Saturday night that thirty teenagers escaped from the Academy, then proceeded to cross New Denvers borders into Wyld Country. The Academy is the Federal Education center for Young Recruits of the National Army. Not long after this, the government released Infection X, a virus that will target the weak and pull out specimens strong enough to continue into the New World. This comes after other government viruses, like DZEZE and Fly Flu, which are remembered to be the millenniums most devastating epidemics. We suspect this virus correlates with the escape of these thirty fugitives, who are thought to be a group of dissident children being rehabilitated at the Academy. A prime suspect for the responsibility of these crimes is Charlotte Charlie Swinger, 16, who was at the top of her class at her time in Academy. Hopefully, they will survive until Rebelli@n agents recover them. -The Rebelli@n Times, 12:01 AM

I am plucking berries, each of them plump with water and juice. Someone screams, and the fluids pop all over my hands, trickling down my fingers in ruby rivulets. I hurry out to the direction of the shriek, pulling out my gun, which shakes so violently in my hands that Im afraid it will accidently go off and that I will kill someone. Which is the point. My heart is thudding so hard that by the time I reach Amy Lewski, I cannot hear her screams, but I can still see the body on the forest floor, sticky in a pool of blood. At first I think he is still alive, so I pull on the lapel of his favorite flannel shirt and shake him as hard as my weak arms can. The others come rushing from other parts of the wood, screaming like Amy Lewski. The blood mixes with the juice on my skin. I cannot even begin to imagine what Amy is feeling, watching someone shaking her boyfriends lifeless body, but that is when I begin to cry. They all become silent. Nobody has ever seen me cry. Not even Kiara, who stares at me, open-mouthed, as if she has never met me before. Someone puts a tentative hand to my back, as if I am broken. Which I am. I am a broken, feeble toy, and now they are able to see my loose stitching. I burrow my hands in my face, blood staining my cheeks. I am too miserable to be embarrassed. They see that I am no leader. They see that I am nothing but a fraud. I have been tricking them all along with my optimistic lies and brave smiles. Today, another has died. What used to be thirty is now dwindling into only twenty-one. It has only been a week since we all ran away from that prison, and the Infection is carrying us away into death, one by one. I wonder if death could be better or worse than what I feel now. ***

They are all hesitant around me, as if I am a precious substance like glass. I wonder if I am see-through like glass too; sometimes, I feel like they can all glance through my skin, and see my heart bleeding inside. When I feel like I am at the highest point of breaking, I watch my classmates work around me. It is comforting, knowing how machine-like they are; how their cogs are so well oiled I never need to wind them up. In the morning, I wake in the dawn to observe the girls cook our meals. As the fog burns away in the daylight, the boys go to the river for whats left of unpolluted fish, and I watch as they whip their makeshift lines into the swift stream. Midday is another round of insubstantial food, and in the afternoon they all gather together, training. Occasionally, they give me nods of reverence, making me feel light-hearted, if not healed. I wonder if they think I can still live up to the standard I set when they elected me leader; I wonder if they think I am not as cracked as I feel. Across the woods, I see the tiny frame of Jessie Tilman shoot an arrow straight into the eye of a bird floating across the red sky. Even a girl two years younger and half my weight is accomplishing something for this motley group. At night, Kiara tells me things about our friends before we go to sleep: how Max is so angry at everything that he punches trees to break his bones, or how Liza and Tania do nothing but sulk during training and spend their hunting shifts brushing twigs out of their hair. She tells me how Jerri is getting better at reading and how Drew makes the best rabbit sandwiches in the world. I sometimes wish that I knew all this myself, because I know Kiara is distorting what she says so Ill be happier, content. That is when I realize Im sick. It starts as sweaty flashes when I try to eat or how heavy the air feels after Ive run only a hundred feet. One day, I collapse, and I vomit until there is nothing left to heave, and then I just throw up air. The kindest people always rush to me as I am about to buckle: Kiara, of course, but also Matthew and Timothy, and Georgia and Elizabeth. I must grudge a smile even when I feel like spewing my guts, because it is hard not to feel a swell of pride. Sometimes, I am so angry with them that I throw things and yell; I know a fever has started up, but I cant face it. Because a fever, as yet, has always meant death. So I take it out on people who come near me. Theyve strapped me to a cot on occasion, and now, I am always just lying in bed. Staring at canvas. Im sure Amys dead boyfriend has infected me. It was when I was shaking him, shaking him so hard that his cold blood tinted my skin. I am always offended when I remember the origin of the infection: To eliminate the weakest chain in the link. I may be weak, yes. Unwanted, even. But I contribute, and the hot flashes return when I think about death.

My friends come visit in the duration of a few months. It is heartbreaking, seeing their tired , tear streaked faces. I had never before seen features so bare and wrinkled with age. Kiara comes everyday to give me my meals until one day, she doesnt. They tell me she is frostbitten. I think Ill join her soon. I cant believe its already winter. Drew replaces her. I hate that word-replace-and I hate it even more when I watch him carefully set my food in my lap. I remember, how big of a crush Kiara had on Drew at the Academ, and it seems so utterly wrong that he is still here instead of her. I dont recall what she couldve seen in him; most of the time, he is a show-off and indolent, waving around his baby blue eyes and his spray of blond hair. Everyday grows colder and shorter, especially with him by my side. There is one day when I know I will die. They tell me that they have already picked another leader: Jessie Tilman, and I agree. I never knew her that well, not even in the days of the Academy, but I watched her in her element and elegance. She is the perfect choice for someone to organize this fraying group. Occasionally, Drew makes me pies, the crust ground from wild wheat and the filling from cultivated berries. I am starting to warm to the idea of him, even at the same time that it brings pain to my memories of Kiara. He even brings dandelions to my bedroom, reminding me that spring is on the way. I did not know that he knew I liked these weeds. On this day, he hands me a pie, still warm, and I stab into the crust, crimson liquid bursting out of it. I know whats inside. I ask him where he found the fruits, and he tells me in the grove just outside of the clearing. I think hes talking about the same one Im thinking about. It sits in my feverish mind, the berries glowing an effervescent vermillion red. Im reminded of a story that Kiara once told me; she was into Antique things, Kiara; and its about a girl named Persephone who loved flowers. She walked into the wood one day and found a hideous black weed growing with bulging rust berries, and pulled so hard that it created a great gaping hole, and Death climbed out in a chariot. And Death said, Come with me Persephone. Be my wife. A tear slips out of my eye. Death is wrapping his nimble fingers around my neck, slipping a ring around my finger. I am bound to him. I fall limp, and the only thing I am thinking about is how blue Drews eyes are in the dark.

*** I dont think the infected truly die.