Jayson

Three days in quarantine and isolation had Jayson pacing like a jaguar in a cage. The cells were made of polycarbonate glass with enough lamination to stop a hailstorm of bullets. If anyone turned in one of these cells, the Soapies wouldn't be going anywhere.

Someone brought him food three times a day, but without his PTSD meds, he was anxious, irritable, and unable to sleep. With no showers, recreational time, or even a way to speak to anyone, it was difficult to function. He exercised by jogging in place, doing pushups and situps, but even that got old.

Diego and Monica were in adjacent cells on either side of him, both bored out of their minds. Diego did similar things to keep himself busy, but even he had taken to pacing back and forth in his cell, occasionally banging on the glass, only for his shouts to go unheard. Monica had mostly slept, cried, and slept some more. More times than not, she sat against her bed with her legs curled into her chest.

Jayson wasn't ready to cry, but it was time to get out. Several survivors in the other cells were all in similar states of mind, either pleading through the soundproof glass or catatonic in their beds. Every person wore a simple white jumpsuit—a thermal shirt over capris with nothing else. It was as if they'd all been sentenced to serve a prison sentence without understanding the charges or how long they'd be incarcerated.

Keeping track of the days was simple enough based on the food deliveries. Despite the lights constantly on a low setting, the meals gave him a decent indication of time. Eggs and grain in the morning with fruit, greens and meat in the afternoon and evenings. Jayson wondered how the facility had access to all of this with clean water, but he wouldn't find out until he got out.

If he got out.

Right now, the odds didn't look so good.

Shortly after lunch on the second day, someone in a cell across from him caught his attention, a seizure of sorts, and he was instantly reminded of Loki. Scrambling to his feet, he ran to the front of his tiny cell, where he caught Monica and Diego doing the same from his peripheral vision.

The man ahead jerked and thrashed on the ground until he went still. Jayson couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a puddle of vomit and other questionable substances pooled around the poor bastard. He didn't need to wait to know the man would reanimate with white film clouding his eyes—Jayson had witnessed it all first hand the day of the outbreak. Still, he felt compelled to watch, curious to see how this facility would respond.

The man slowly stood up and wobbled for a moment before turning to the cell closest to him where Sergeant Ackerman was contained. Even from here, a deep scowl was visible on his face as he kept his arms folded against his chest, watching the Soapie the way he would a sixty-nine car pileup on the freeway. That is, he watched calmly until the Soapie lunged for him, slamming into the thick glass. Sergeant Ackerman jumped back, dropping his arms to steady himself.

Jayson shared a glance between his friends and turned his attention back to the enraged Soapie continuing its barrage. Something above ejected from the ceiling, reflecting against the sudden bright light in the cell.

"What the fuck is that?" Jayson murmured, craning his neck for a better look at the state of the art weapon attached to the swiveling bracket. It was like a large laser-gun Jayson had only seen in movies and video games, slowly focusing on the unsuspecting undead man below.

The gun halted its movement and a flame burst from it in continuous fire until the Soapie was completely doused in it. Despite the soundproofed cells, Jayson could see the Soapie shrieking, flailing in every direction as the gun continued its assault, incinerating everything inside.

Ackerman stumbled, watching with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. Diego's skin had gone a full shade lighter while Monica covered her eyes, shaking with sobs. Jayson continued to watch with a racing heart as skin and clothing melted off the man's body, taking him immediately back to the moment where his truck had caught on fire and burned his own body. Never before had the Soapies displayed signs of pain, but Jayson knew right then that this poor man felt every single burn tearing his body apart.

When the flames receded, all that was left was ash and soot. The image would no doubt haunt everyone present for the rest of their lives, and Jayson was thankful Taylor and Jeannie hadn't just witnessed that.

No one ate that night.

On the fourth morning—afternoon—whatever it was by now, Jayson banged on the glass when someone shoved his food through a small window. "Hey! HEY! DON'T WALK AWAY FROM ME!"

The man turned for a moment, casting Jayson a pitying glance. "I'm sorry," he mouthed before scurrying away.

Jayson growled, punching the laminated glass. His hand bounced away throbbing while the window remained unfazed. "Fuck! Come on! We can't stay like this forever!"

He was met with only silence, and he leaned against the clear wall, pressing his fists and forehead against it. Without his meds, he was now trembling, sweating, and experiencing what could only be described as little brain zaps every five minutes.

The withdrawals were becoming unbearable, and it wouldn't be long before the nightmares started again. Between Afghanistan, Soapies, and losing everyone, he was terrified with no way to control the things going on around him.

Turning around with his back to the glass, he slid to the floor and buried his face into his knees. His food tray sat beside him, untouched and growing cold as he focused on meditating.

Deep breath in. Hold. Slow breath out. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Someone in a hazmat suit had come to clean and sterilize the cell, focusing only on the task at hand while ignoring everyone else. After that, everyone but Jayson had given up on hoping for that light at the end of the tunnel. Unfortunately, he felt just like everyone else, alone and hopeless.

He didn't know how much time had passed since his meal had been delivered when a voice came from the electric panel beside the door.

"Jayson, can you hear me?"

He lifted his head and stared at the tiny device, not daring to hope for his first human contact since he'd arrived. Was he dreaming? There was no possible way Taylor could possibly be speaking to him after four days of silence.

"Jayson, it's Taylor. I finally got my hands on a tablet and hijacked the system. Give me a second to hack Monica and Diego's cells."

A deranged laugh escaped Jayson's chest until it morphed into something hysterical. Leave it to Taylor to hack a government grade computer system.

As he laughed, Taylor spoke over him. "Okay, I think I've got it. Can you all hear me?"

"Yes!" The others cried, both of them jumping up together and watching the panels like their own personal lifelines.

"Taylor, where have you been?" Monica sobbed. "We saw them take you and Jeannie but haven't had any contact since we were quarantined."

"Are you okay?" Diego asked in a hopeful tone. "What about Jeannie? Do you know what happened to her?"

The line went quiet, and the longer Taylor didn't respond, the more Jayson dreaded the response. "Taylor?"

"I'm here," he finally said in a deflated voice. "I've been recovering in a hospital room. My dad hovers worse than a helicopter mom, and this was the first chance I've had to play with the system."

"What about Jeannie?" Monica bit her lip as she asked, but Jayson could see she knew as well as he did they wouldn't like the answer.

Taylor sighed and whispered, "She didn't make it. I'm sorry."

Monica burst into tears and hugged herself as she dropped to her knees, rocking back and forth until she hyperventilated. Jayson closed his eyes and set back down with a soft curse. Everything they'd done to save Jeannie, all the suffering they'd forced on her, had been for nothing.

"This is all my fault," Taylor said, interrupting Jayson's thoughts. "I never should have panicked or run off."

Jayson shook his head, sending tears splashing against his tunic. "No. I think if it hadn't been one situation, it would have been another. Please don't blame yourself."

"I can't help it," Taylor admitted. "All I can do is give you guys some peace until they let you out."

"Do you have any idea when that will be?" Diego asked.

"My dad said something about waiting on lab work. I think you'll all be out in a couple of days though. I can't stay on long—I don't think these people will appreciate me overriding their systems, but I can leave the line open for you three until you get out of there."

"How did you do it?" Jayson couldn't help but wonder how Taylor had managed it.

His best friend laughed. "Please, my dad designed this system. I've been tinkering with computers since I was old enough to play with Dad's equipment. This was child's play."

Jayson laughed again, smiling for the first time since the apocalypse began. "Well, I'm glad you're on our side. I can't wait to see you again."

"Soon," he promised. "I'll stay on my dad's case and see if he can get you all out of here. I have to go before I get caught, but I really am sorry."

Jayson sighed while Monica sniffled. "It's okay, Taylor. None of us are blaming you. Just focus on getting better and we'll see you soon."

"Yeah."

Neither of them sounded convinced, but Jayson couldn't blame anyone for what had happened. They'd done the best they could in a shitty situation and all they could do now was grieve and try to pick up the pieces.

The next day passed with the trio in both better spirits and somber as they discussed Jeannie's death. Nothing they could say would take back what had been done, and they all hoped she hadn't suffered.

Taylor hadn't reached out to them since the day before, but simply being able to talk to someone had improved Jayson's mental state immensely. His dizziness had intensified, leaving him practically bedridden as Monica talked him through his withdrawals. While the sweating had stopped, vivid, graphic nightmares took its place. Images of his friends turning, the incident in the cell, and his skin melting in fire invaded his sleep. He'd woken up screaming and patting himself down, only to feel the uneven scars left behind from his deployment.

When it came time for the last meal of the day to be delivered, four sets of armed guards walked into the cell block, swiping security cards in the door panels and letting the survivors out, one at a time.

Monica was the first to be released and instantly flung herself into Jayson's arms when his turn came. He held her tight, stroking her hair over and over again as he memorized the sensation of her body against his. He inhaled the stale scent of her hair and brought her mouth against his, cradling her face on both of his hands.

He didn't care who watched—as far as he was concerned, they were the only two people in the world as Monica returned his kiss with equal ferver.

When they broke apart, Jayson slipped his hand into hers and interlaced their fingers together. Though visibly shaken, Monica watched him with glistening eyes and a small smile. "It's nice to see you too, Sergeant Recklaw."

With a small boop to her nose, Jayson grinned. "I plan on us seeing a whole lot more of each other, Miss Wainwright. I never want to let you go again."

She wrapped her arms around his as the soldiers instructed them to follow to be processed into the facility. He didn't pay as much attention as he should have, but he could only hope the worst was behind them. They'd already lost enough.