Page 2 of Outbreak

“Fine. Just be safe. Don’t do anything stupid.”

The call disconnects, and I open the app to see her walking out of her closet with a towel wrapped around her—not a care in the world. I lock the screen and shove it back into my pocket.

I gotta go.

I’ve got to get to her, before whatever is happening here makes it to her. This was always the plan. Now, it’s just accelerated a bit. Sticking to the walls and back alleys, I race through the crowds to get back to my truck and get the fuck out of here. I don’t know what’s going on, but I know it’s not good.

The world might actually be on fire, but nothing else matters right now.

I’m coming for you, Death.

CHAPTER 1

Rue

“Idon’t feel so hot. Y’all should go on without me,” I say, flopping back down on my bed.

My black comforter is littered with copious amounts of discarded outfit choices my roommate is trying to force me into. I’d rather stick needles in my fucking eyes than wear anything but my comfy, worn-out black sweats, a ripped tank, and my bright pink fuzzy socks.

“Awe! That’s so cute, Rue. Not a fucking chance! Get your sexy ass up and get ready,” Noah says, pulling me up by my arms until my socks hit the hardwood floor in defeat.

Mallory tightens her high ponytail, straightens the baby pink ribbon she’s tied around it, and goes about reapplying her lip gloss in the mirror for the thousandth time tonight. She’s adorable; I’ll give her that. With her long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and award-winning resting bitch face. Outside of these four walls of our dorm, no one would actually think she’s a down to earth girl who’s been sheltered and funded by her rich mommy and daddy for too long. She’s a born and bred preppy cheerleader on the outside, but when it’s just us, she lets the mask slip away.

She takes a minute to check out her ass in her mini skirt before leveling me with her signature look in the mirror that lets me know there’s no way I’m getting out of this party tonight.

“Fine! But I’m not wearing any of that,” I say in sarcastic acceptance, dragging myself to my feet and going into my closet to pull out something I’ll actually wear in public. When I come back out, I toss my ripped black jeans with neon green threading along the rips onto the bed and drop my black Dr. Martens on the floor. If I’m going to be forced to go to this ridiculous party in the woods, I’m going as myself.

“I’ll take that compromise,Wednesday,” she mocks with a smile, taunting me for my sparkling personality and preference for the darker side of things.

Noah chuckles as he shimmies past us to peek out the window before popping his hip and snapping his ridiculously long fingers at us. “Chop chop, bitches! I’m trying to get dicked down, thrown around, and folded like a taco. Let’s go!”

“Geez, Noah! Don’t be such a desperate little bitch boy,” Mallory laughs as she slips on her absurdly impractical shoes for a party in the woods. The pink iridescent platform wedges shimmer in the light as she buckles the tiny straps around her ankles.

“Mal, baby. Just because you don’t like riding the dick doesn’t mean you have to shit on our parade,” Noah sasses back at her.

I swear to God, these two argue like sisters who steal each other's clothes and boyfriends. “Okay, that’s enough. I am more than happy to sit my ass right here while you go without me—if you can’t play nice.”

“You’re no fun, Mom,” Noah whines as I finish lacing my boots and grab my knife. I never go anywhere without it strapped to me or somewhere within reach.

Maybe one of the skirts Mallory wanted me to wear would conceal it better, but I much prefer to have it strapped to my thigh on display so everyone knows I’m not the one to fuck with. Besides, going into the Louisiana swamps at night to party during a lockdown is monumentally stupid. Even if the drunk fuckboys don’t try something, there’s still a thousand other ways to die out there.

Slipping the thin, strappy sheath over my boot and up my leg, I walk to the full-length mirror and hip-check Mallory out of the way. My reflection feels so much more like myself than the outfits my sunshine and rainbows bestie would have me in.

The black blade blends in well with my pants, concealing it enough to not be noticed unless I want it to be. The cropped tank fits tightly across my chest, molding to my curves like a second skin. Only a sliver of my stomach shows without displaying too much.

I don’t want to explain to a bunch of drunk trust fund babies what the real world is like out there. They’ve had a silver spoon in their mouths since birth. They wouldn’t understand the scars I earned for simply existing. I don’t want their pity and fake sympathies—I survived. That’s all that matters.

Now, I get to exist for myself.

Turning from the mirror, I unplug my phone from my nightstand, shoving my vape in my bra as I check my messages. My douchebag boyfriend still hasn’t returned my messages, and I honestly don’t know why it’s bothering me. I don’t even like him, not really. I wouldn’t even be entertaining him if Mallory hadn’t insisted that I experience the ‘normal’ college lifestyle and convinced me it was important to snag one of the popular guys.

Josh is a junior here at Magnolia State and one of the star football players. He is so far from my type it isn’t even funny—but I’m giving this college thing my best shot. I’ve put all of myeggs into this basket, and I’m going to see this through to the end. I’ve never had a ‘normal’ experience in my entire life. My parents died in an accident when I was a baby, and I bounced around different foster homes until I was permanently placed at twelve. I thought I was finally going to have a ‘normal’ childhood with a family who made pancakes on Sundays and sat with me at night to help me with my homework. But life isn’t ‘sunshine and rainbows’ for people like me.

People always leave— but the scars—they're mine forever.

Shaking off the morose memories, I send one last message to Josh, asking if he is meeting me at this party. I don’t really give two shits about seeing him, but Noah is right. If I’m forced out of this mandatory lockdown and into the wild, I’m at least trying to get some dick out of it.

“He’s still not reading my messages,” I tell them, locking my phone and slipping it into my back pocket as I head to the doorway where they’re waiting for me. I grab my black hoodie and drape it over my arm before Mallory pulls me out the door.

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