The Infected: A Classic Dystopian Short Story

I used to think monsters waded through the thick of night. They lurked in shadows with demonic  crimson eyes and horns that crowned them with sin. I thought they had teeth that tore innocent’s  flesh from their bones. I swore they hid in my closet or under my bed or stalked outside my  window, basking in stormy nights as the thunder masked their approach.  

I was wrong.  

Instead, they had eyes the color of ice and skin the shade of snow. They walked around in  flesh akin to mine, hiding in broad daylight. Bruises and boils crawled up their arms. Yellow  rashes scorched their cheeks. They were the worst of humanity—the lowest of our kind. They  were the reason we came to suffer; the reason we lost millions of lives.  

They were the Infected.  

“Don’t let them fool you.” The governor’s voice reverberated from the T.V. speakers  through our deli. “They’ll tell you they’re the victims. They will feed you lies and beg for your  pity but look around.” The screen flashed to footage of the Infected taking baseball bats and  bricks to windows and fighting civilians in the streets. Infected children screamed for their  mothers as our forces prepared to bash their batons into their father’s skulls. Cars burst into flames. “If untamed,” the governor said, looking directly into the camera, “they will continue to  be our nation’s demise.” 

“Can we turn it off?” I asked. I wasn’t sure how much more violence I could take,  however righteous it was. 

My mother dug her white-tipped nails into the yellow cloth as she wiped away dried  mayo and mustard and whatever else the man from earlier had on his sandwich. “It’s a bit,” I cleared my throat, “violent for a sandwich shop on a Monday afternoon.” Mother stiffened. She glanced around the shop as if the single patron, whose eyes were glued to the T.V. and was chewing with his mouth open, was paying any sort of attention. “It’s important to pay our respects to the forces, Isla,” she whispered. 

I leaned over the counter, placing my cheek in my palm. “They wouldn’t know–” “This is God’s will. It’s a good thing, getting rid of those beasts.”  

The bell rang. 

“Hi! Welcome to Watson’s!” my mother said. Her smile widened as she took in the  gentleman stepping through the threshold. Perspiration gathered under his arms, and when he  removed his mask, sweat bunched on the tip of his nose. He wiped his forearm across his head.  “The heat,” he said, “it sure does kill.” 

Gun shots blared from the T.V. 

Civilians ducked behind flipped cars.  

“Hopefully, we’ll get a good rain in. It always cools off after those,” mother said. She  threw the dirty cloth over her shoulder. “How are you doing, Larry?”  

The forces kicked down doors of city shops, before yanking the Infected out and shoving  them into windowless vans. 

Larry smiled. “Very well, Melissa. There’s never anything to complain about.” He strode over to the register before gesturing back to the T.V. “Glad they’re getting what they deserve.”

Children were gathered into flocks as they were sorted into their own vans. My stomach  turned. “Is it?” I questioned without second thought. It slipped out of my lips as if I was speaking  a simple truth, though I knew it wasn’t. 

The clock ticked louder than normal.  

My mother snapped her gaze to mine as if the mere thought of her daughter being a  Sympathizer would rally the forces after us. She was right. If they knew our thoughts, investing  in one’s born curiosity would be enough to imprison us, and to speak that way in public…that  could kill. 

“Isla,” she whispered through clenched teeth. 

As if on cue, the pantry door swung open as my father walked through, balancing four  white boxes between his hands and chin. “The forces protect us,” he scolded as he placed the  boxes next to the register. “It would not have gotten bloody if they abided by God’s laws.” He  scratched his chin as he watched husbands shield their wives. He placed a kiss atop my head.  

Ever since the plague, the nation had been in shut down and the crime rates had climbed  beyond anything we had ever seen. God’s law was the solution.  

My mother laughed, high-pitched and strained. “Please don’t mind her,” she said. “You  know how young minds work.” 

Larry chuckled. “Curious about the wrong things, it seems,” he said, as if I could control  it. 

My father clasped a hand on my shoulder. “Take out the trash, Isla.” 

Outside, thunder rumbled.  

“Yes sir,” I said, keeping my gaze on the ground. Eye contact would be disgraceful. I scurried away, gathering the trash before racing toward the door. 

Using my elbow to push it open, I stepped out into the alley and— 

The door slammed behind me. 

A man stood before me. 

Blue eyes. Pale skin. Blonde hair.  

Infected. 

The man froze as one hand clutched a half-eaten sandwich and the other an expired can  of beans. His lips parted. His eyes widened.  

I reached for my mask, but I had left it inside.  

I was exposed.  

He couldn’t be more than three years older than me. He had certainly passed the age of  accountability. He was bound for hell. All the Infected were. 

He looked different this close. He was thinner and the purple crescents under his eyes  were far more defined. His lips were chapped enough to bleed, and his clothes were raggier than  I thought. Ten years prior, the white street shirt and pants were fashion for the elites. Now, it was  shredded and stained red and brown, worn by one who would rightfully never step near wealth  again.  

I scanned his body again and again, looking for boils or scars but I found nothing. The Infected was unmarked.  

He dropped the can. It rolled forward, toward the main street. 

“You’re digging through the trash,” I said to no one in particular as if I hadn’t seen him  do it a hundred times before. I scanned the alley to find any passerby but, save for the few kids  riding their bikes in the street ahead, we were alone. 

The man said nothing as his eyes traced down the curves of my body. He was  memorizing every detail, calculating all my weaknesses.  

That should have been a sign to run—a sign to leave and call the forces to have him  contained, but I could not help but feel like that would be a betrayal. Maybe it was because I had  watched him from my bedside window for months.  

Or maybe it was because we were wrong. 

For a mere second, the Infected seemed as though he was going to speak. For that split  second, it seemed like he might have recognized me too.  

He whirled in the opposite direction and ran. 

“Wait!” I called out. I dropped the trash and found myself racing after him before the bag  could clatter to the ground. 

“Wait!” 

He glanced over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner into another alley. Thunder cracked. Lightening struck. I whipped around the same corner before two hands  grabbed my shoulders and thrusted me against a brick wall, forcing the air from my lungs.  “What do you want?” the man asked. We were tucked between a stack of crates. His  hands burned my skin as I imaged the plague spewing from his fingers tips and into my veins. I embraced it.  

“I—” I stuttered, looking up at him.  

What did I want? Why was I there? God, a smart woman would have been terrified out of  her mind. A smart woman would have fought. A smart woman wouldn’t have ended up there in  the first place.  

Larry was right. I was curious about the wrong things. 

“What’s your name?” I asked, because there was no answer to offer. I had watched this  man for months, accepting him as another nameless Infected.  

I didn’t even know if the Infected had names. 

Thunder roared—closer this time—as he grinded his teeth.  

I did not coward away. I didn’t remove eye contact. I allowed him to read me, to see that  I posed no threat. That he dominated me in every way.  

At this proximity, I was the one in danger. I was the one who was sure to become  infected.  

Three breaths passed before he released my shoulders. “It’s better if you don’t know,” he  said.  

A single drop of rain landed on his eyelash. Another kissed my forehead. 

“I know how this works,” he continued. “I know what your people do. You’ll disarm me,  convince me you want to help, and then the minute I step away, you will call for your forces to  save you from my kind.” 

His kind?  

I spat out the same laugh my mother made when things weren’t going her way. I wouldn’t take no for an answer. “My name is Isla Watson. I am nineteen years old and when I was  younger, I was scared of monsters.” I scrunched my nose. “I thought they lived under my bed.” I  also thought they cursed the nation with the plague, but I left that part out. “Now, what’s your name?” 

The man stepped back, checking the perimeter and reaching for a knife sheathed at his  hip. 

I swallowed. A new fear struck me. They didn’t just spread the plague. They were also  feral creatures with minds programmed to kill.  

He pulled his hand away from his weapon before tucking them into his jean pockets. I  released my breath. “Kolten,” he said.  

I inched closer to him, lowering my voice. “Tell me the truth Kolten, and I will take you  at your word. Are you going to harm me?” 

Kolten’s eyebrows stitched together. He scoffed. “Are you?” 

I hesitated, thinking over my answer. There was no reason to stay. There was no reason to  chase after him, let alone trust him, but as I looked up, as I truly took him in, he looked more like  me than I thought he would. “No,” I whispered.  

He nodded. “Then, no. I’m not going to harm you, and I’m not going to infect you.” How was that possible? Did they spread the plague by choice? “You’re not going to  infect me? But—” 

“You said you’d take me at my word.” 

I also took the governor at his word.  

But the governor was clothed in fine silk.  

Kolten was clothed in rags.  

“Okay,” I said. “Come back tonight at seven. I can help.” 

“I don’t need your help.” 

“Sure, you do.”  

The droplets of rain turned to tears of rage, soaking us in a matter of seconds.  “Do you feel guilty, Isla? Guilty that you have a house to live in and food to eat and I  don’t? Don’t pretend you care about us. You’re not a good person for talkingto me, and I don’t care to make you think you are.” The storm veiled the power of his voice. “The best part is, Isla,  you’re next.” 

He was wrong. He was wrong about all of it. “I’ll be waiting,” I said. “Come back no  later than 9:00.” 

“Why should I trust you?” 

I smiled because he already did. 

“You shouldn’t.” 

*** 

The governor placed his arms on the podium as he leaned in toward the camera.  “Throughout our regime,” he said, “we have made significant changes that have benefited our  nation. Through the plague, through the oppression from the Infected, we have overcome all, and  we will continue to grow and prosper.” 

The press cheered for him, giving thanks to the Lord. 

He held up a hand to silence them. “I will continue to make the best decisions to keep our  nation safe, but as always, it comes with changes. Citizens of the nation, I promise you all good  will come to those who follow the law.” 

I swept the floor, unable to stop thinking about Kolten and counting down the hours until  we met again. The governor’s voice buzzed like a fly in my ear. I tuned him out. I could have been infected. I could have become one of them.  

The governor had said the Infected lived with the plague. They carried it in their sweat  and blood. Each breath spewed venom.  

But Kolten didn’t have the marks of the Infected. There were no sweltering bruises or  bloody blisters.

“As the Bible says, ‘but I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the  man, but to be in silence,” the governor continued. Drawn from my reverie, I straightened,  running to the remote to turn up the volume. The deli was more crowded than usual.  “Submission is what keeps the nation running. Submission is not a weakness, but a strength that  brings the congregation together. All people have God-given roles that we, as loyal children,  must submit to, and as we advance into the new era, it’s imperative that these roles become more defined.” 

My mother stopped cutting tomatoes. Her knuckles whitened as she clenched the knife’s  handle. My father pulled apart freshly baked bread. 

“God has spoken. Let it be declared that a woman’s biggest sin, aside from adultery, is  teaching in a church or school. Think about it,” the governor said, “the women did not contribute  anything during the plague. Instead, they spread mass hysteria. They were Sympathizers. They  have proven that there is nothing more dangerous than a woman’s curiosity.”  The women in the deli stopped eating.  

You’re next.  

No. This was for the best. There was nothing more righteous than God’s law. He told truth. He didn’t contradict himself. A just King never did.  

Guilt rattled through me. I was the problem— the sinner, for I was a Sympathizer charged against the Creator’s plan.  

“God’s will is our law. This will be effective as of tomorrow morning. Anyone who dares  to break the Law of God will be arrested and questioned as a Sympathizer.” The T.V. turned off. My mother was frozen in place, the knife flat on the cutting board as she continued to  stare at the blank screen. “Marcus,” she muttered. “We need to leave early for church tonight.”

“And why’s that?” he said, looking up for the first time.  

My mother untied her apron. “There’s a lot to do. They don’t know where the files are.” “Who doesn’t know?” 

“You. They. No one knows where the files are. They’re hidden and organized by color.” My father turned away. 

The final step to losing your voice was to lose acknowledgement from ones you loved. 

*** 

On Monday nights they locked the windows before curfew. They tucked their bibles  under their arms and tightened masks around their mouths. They triple locked the door behind  them before they drove off to my mother’s final evening meeting.  

Women should not sit next to the throne of God.  

I waited five minutes after my parents pulled out of the driveway before racing into my  parents room. I stumbled through my father’s drawers. I threw old boxer briefs and clothes that  only fit him in his prime into an old bag. I went downstairs to sort through the deli deliveries,  taking one of everything. It was just enough to get him through the week. 

When I had everything gathered, I waited with bated breath, aligning myself with the  shadows. 

Few dared to leave their houses after dark, for the dark was just a shield for thieves. It  was an invitation for all evils and covered all sin.  

It was dangerous to be unaccompanied at night. It was dangerous to present myself to an  Infected, but I couldn’t help it.  

Women were rash thinkers. 

I counted the stars visible through the city lights as rats scampered between the bins and  roaches scaled the walls. All I had was the moon to tell time. 

Two hours.  

Would Kolten even show up?  

In the distance, streetlights flickered, and owls perched on balconies. Somewhere, a  mother was performing her duty and tucking a child to sleep.  

Across the way, a black silhouette moved along the alley walls. I had watched the man  enough to know the cadence of his stride. 

I revealed myself in the moonlight. “Hi,” I whispered. 

“I have a sister,” he said, out of breath. He ran a hand through his blonde hair.  A sister. 

Was her nose dusted with freckles, too? Was her hair just as pale and lips as splintered  and parched? Were her collarbones as sharp? Her cheeks as hollowed? 

“She’s fallen ill,” he continued. “She has a fever that won’t break.” He tucked his hands  into the pockets of his sweatshirt.  

Even the crickets fell silent. 

“All I have are painkillers,” I said. I handed him the bag of clothes and food. I didn’t pack enough for a family. I never considered he had one.  

I wrapped my arms around my torso. 

“Please,” he breathed, as though it pained him to beg, as though this was worse than  digging through trash like rodents. “Come in with me,” I said, before I had the chance to think it through. I couldn’t leave  him on the streets while I rummaged through more closets, and I couldn’t help but wonder when  the last time he had an honest shower was.  

He blinked at me as if he imagined my words.  

“Trust me,” I said. 

Kolten’s laugh aged him by decades. “Trust is a myth,” he said.  

I leaned into him. “Then how come you already do?” 

“No.” He shook his head. “I took a desperate chance. There’s a difference.” “You’re standing awfully close to a woman you don’t trust.” 

“And you’re standing awfully close to a barbaric criminal,” he spat.  

“Are you?” I dared. “A barbaric criminal? An animal? Are you going to kill me? Tear my  flesh from my bones and steal my soul? I don’t think you believe that.” And neither did I, as a  spark of remembrance flickered through me.  

His kind used to walk among us. They used to play on the same school fields and share  our snacks. They used to be our colleagues, friends, and family. They used to serve ice cream and  work at the banks.  

I used to hold hands with the others. Now, I was damned if I looked at one.  That was forever ago, but had anything really changed?  

If I were to hold hands with one today, would I have become the monster they were made  out to be? Would I have become the Infected? I didn’t think so.  

“Come inside,” I demanded, tucking my palm in his before dragging him inside the deli  and upstairs to our apartment. “Shower,” I said.  

Kolten’s was stunned silent. 

“There is a clean towel and razor under the sink. Do it quick.” 

I checked the clock. Twenty minutes. That’s all we had before my parents came me. As  each minute passed, my heartbeat quickened. I raced to the medicine cabinet and grabbed just  enough pills to be sufficient but not enough for anyone to notice. I threw my clothes into a spare  bag as well.  

The key. I needed the key. 

My blood roared as I recalled exactly where my parents hid it—taped to the back of the  living room mirror. I tore it off, before I hurried back to my bedroom. 

My fingers fumbled with the lock on my window. It wouldn’t budge. When the lock  clicked, I sighed a breath of relief. 

A back up plan.  

I taped the key back up, so my parents wouldn’t notice I used it.  

Out of the street, headlights slashed through the darkness.  

My parents.  

They were early.  

“You’re done,” I said pounding on the bathroom door. “Let’s go.”  

The shower turned off and within seconds Kolten appeared dressed and ready as if he had rehearsed this before. He tightened my father’s old belt around the waist of his over-sized shorts. Car doors slammed.  

Kolten stiffened.  

It’s too late to leave through the shop.  

The deli bell rang before my parents came barging up the stairs. 

“Here,” I said, pulling him into my dark room. My bedroom door didn’t lock. 

My mother was wailing.  

“You’re in hysterics, woman,” my father scolded. “You’ve disgraced our family—put us  to shame—and yet you act like this. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” “But I’m the only one who knows,” she cried. Their voices grew closer as their footsteps  echoed down the hall. 

“Know what?” he yelled. “This is the exact reason God demands that women have no  place in leadership. You’re an emotional wreck. You dare to throw fits? To question the holy  authority? In public?”  

I put my hand over my mouth to silence my gasp. My mother had questioned.  She questioned the governor in public.  

My father lowered his voice. “You understand what happens next.” 

“Let me say goodnight to my daughter.” 

Kolten placed his hand on my shoulder. He leaned down to my ear. “Isla,” he whispered,  “I need to leave.” 

I nodded, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. I found myself bound in place, chained  to the weight of fear and grief of what was to come.  

An urgent sigh cried from down the street. 

Sirens. 

“Isla,” he said, more pressing. “It’s time to go.” 

My ears buzzed as the siren grew louder and louder until it wailed and screamed. “Isla!” Kolten demanded.  

“No, Melissa,” my father said, “you cannot say goodnight.”  

I couldn’t move.

I heard the thud of my mother collapsing to the floor. “Everything will fall apart without  me,” she said. “You are not the man I married.” 

Red and gold flashed outside. White vans followed. 

Tens of them.  

“Isla!” Kolten screamed. 

I jolted. “They’re going to take her,” I said over the sirens. 

He laughed in distain. “They’re going to take all of you.”  

“Isla?” my mother called with a sense of desperation in her voice. The door swung open. Mascara streamed down her cheeks. My father rushed behind her.  

I remembered Kolten was next to me and threw open the window. “Go,” I told Kolten.  “Run.” 

“You stupid, stupid girl,” my father breathed.  

My mother placed a hand to her heart as though she had been shot. “Oh, God. Isla, what  have you done?” 

Soldiers started to pile out of their trucks, guns strapped to their sides as they made their  way to civilian homes. “Sympathizers have spread the Infection,” the soldiers blared through  speakers. “All woman above the age of eighteen are to report immediately.”  It is past curfew.  

“Mom,” I said.  

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”  

Below, soldiers barged into homes, dragging women out in their nightgowns. Babies’  cries pierced through the night.  

Kolten took my hand in his. “We have to go,” he said, his voice tender and sweet. 

We.  

There were no goodbyes as Kolten and I climbed down the fire escape. My father had  turned away, averting his eyes from his sinful daughter. My mother watched us with quivering  lips until the soldiers broke through the deli shop doors and stormed up our stairs. She slammed  the window shut.  

“Come on,” Kolten whispered.  

My mother let the men drag her away with a quiet grace.  

Kolten grabbed my hand, and somehow, I managed to run alongside him. Somehow my  body detached itself from my mind as the world I loved was betrayed by the man who swore to  protect us. As the people I knew were ripped from their homes and thrown to the floor. As  children screamed for their mothers and brothers screamed for their sisters.  Somewhere, a car burst into flames. 

Somewhere, Larry bashed a brick into a soldier’s head. 

His wife was already dead.  

I used to think monsters walked around marred with scars. I used to think their skin was  as pale as the moon and their eyes the color of kyanite. I used to think the monsters were  nameless, stalking through the streets alone without families. They spread the plague. They  brought down our society.  

I was wrong.  

The monsters preached the word of God. The monsters told us they had our best interests.  The monsters turned an ‘us’ into ‘them,’ and plucked their lies from our brutal truths. 

They were the Infected.