The last time the hallways were full of this much chaos was when the outbreak happened. Two years ago. We were loaded into buses. Some on trains. Some on planes. Scattered.
Not that I would know. The windows were blackened. The room I was put in was the same as the one before. If I had not heard the muffled voice of a pilot through my acoustic earmuffs and felt the sensation of the plane taking off and
landing, I would have no idea I even left the institute.
I sat at my desk. Marker in hand, pausing in my latest drawing.
The footsteps were hurried. Voices frantic through their attempts to sound normal.
The alarm. I knew it would come.
Laying back in my bed I closed my eyes and let them whisper me asleep.
It was the nurse with the green eyes that woke me. That was all we ever saw of the staff. Their eyes.
Again it was a bus.
The staff's attention on the "screamers". Having self imposed myself into silence four years ago,
the staff over time forgot the reason for me being in such a place. I was quiet. I was not a threat.
I felt it before it happened. My body limp in preparation.
The bus swerved. The driver struggling to maintain control. It did not matter the bus would win.
My body was not my own as it ragdolled with the crash. Glass slashed at my face. Metal twisting mixing with the screams.Still they whispered to me. It was if their whispers cradled me through the crash. As the bus came to a stop, so did I. Laying still, until I felt a pull on my arm. I blinked.
It was the nurse with the hazel eyes. Those eyes that would wake me in the middle of the night.
Do things to me and leave. Knowing I would not speak of what he had done.
I let him wipe the blood from my face and check for broken limbs.
I listened as he told me the others were dead or would die.
I nodded as he told me he would take care of me. That we would survive.
I watched as he gathered supplies and put a gun in a backpack.
I let him take my hand and lead me away from the others.
We past signs not in a language I recognized.
Blood stained the streets. Buildings looted and left to rot.
Finding an abandoned house, he sat me on the worn couch. As he went outside to gather what he could to make a fire, I gathered things of my own. They whispered their approval.
Coming back inside, he smiled as I sat silent on the couch. Having removed his protective clothing, he was feeling safe. Fool.
A fire was lit. A can of beans shared between us.
He covered me in a dusty blanket when he thought I was asleep on the couch. I waited. As the moon rose higher, he did not appear. So I went to him.
Waking him with a nudge as I sat on the edge of the bed. My dominance caught him off guard. Thinking he had achieved grooming me, he relaxed into me. The whispers stopped.
Those hazel eyes glazed with excitement as I arched my back, sliding my hand to where the knife was tucked into my sock.
Together my silence was broken as the whispers turned to roars.
Those hazel eyes wide as the knife cut across his throat.
Together we laughed at his attempts to wiggle from my grasp.
Those hazel eyes greying as death fell over them.
Together we sang as I slammed the knife into his temple. Just to make sure.
Slinging the backpack over my shoulder I walked from the house. I walked from the constraints of the institute. For the first time in six years I felt the sun on my face. I heard birds that were not accompanied by classical music. I was free. We were free.
My self imposed silence was over.
It was time to make the world scream.