Remedie made it out of the city on foot. It’s dark and she’s disoriented in the woods off the highway. The sirens don’t seem as close as they did yesterday. In fact, she can actually hear her own stomach over them. She tries to feel for a tree or something solid in front of her so she can take a seat, finally, against it. The floor’s still wet from this afternoon’s rain and infested with insects and dead animals; but Remedie doesn’t know, and she won’t care.
The adrenaline hasn’t worn off, but the anxiety is paralyzing. Fetal position and fighting for her own breath, she’s haunted by the young boy’s voice again: “They’re in you. They’re inside of you. Growing with you. Growing with us. They manifest us all at some point in our lives but only few can survive the possession.” She put a hand on her stomach as if she’s going to throw up. Remedie knows she doesn’t have many options anymore.
She knows it’s a matter of time before the police surround her new, dark, damp haven after tracking the chip in her neck. The chip sends painful shocks down the spine when any feelings like love or peace are felt. When pure love and peace is felt, the shocks can be fatal. The government wants to make sure everyone is on edge, all the time. “Panic mode” is the new “productive” headspace and severe paranoia is now a common trait of true realists.
The police are well on their way. The sirens are getting closer. Remedie can feel the insects making their way around her ankles and up her calves and thighs. She’s now repulsed by the smell of the rotting animals and can feel how soaked her shorts are. The fear is overbearing but is literally keeping her alive. Remedie is scared for her life, but alive because of that.
The police have her surrounded. She is holding her stomach again screaming “don’t shoot!”
“You either comply or we’re going to shoot you, IT-450” said one officer.
IT stands for “iteration” and 450 is a number from 0 – 500 that denotes how dangerous you are to the current state of public health, or better yet, the government’s ideal state of public health. They erased names. Everyone is just an iteration with fluctuating threat levels. This makes it psychologically easier on the officers when they shoot to kill. Also, the number doesn’t mean you have the virus. The government doesn’t care if you have the virus. It’s the virus that keep the government in the control of the people.
Remedie is a threat. Remedie doesn’t know why she is being hunted. The police move closer with their weapons drawn at Remedie.
In those seconds, her brain flashes her life from beginning to tonight and Remedie is amazed at how quickly she reviewed 32 years as, simply, a series of moments. In those seconds, Remedie is at peace. Shocks start to make way down her spine. She remembers the smile of her late husband… shocks. She remembers her mother’s face when she graduated from university… shocks. As her life flashes, in those seconds, Remedie loses feeling in her legs and the shocks permanently damage her thoracic nervous system. She can’t get up and the police have slowed their pace to her as they witness what’s happening. Remedie is still up against the tree, now unable to get up.
The police aim to take their shots like a firing squad and Remedie places her hand on her stomach once again. She’s not scared anymore. The head officer gives the command to shoot after a three second countdown and Remedie closes her eyes with her hand still on her stomach. “I’m sorry we never got to meet. I love you, Amare.” she whispers to herself and a powerful shock is sent down her spine, cutting through her nervous system, and frying her brain before the police could even finish the job.
She lies in the wet dirt in the dark forest with her eyes rolled back. She did not survive the possession. But she did have the cure. If only she wasn’t programmed to repress it; but unfortunately, in this society, the cure would’ve ended any iteration.
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