Page 29 of Burning Love

Her throat tightened at the memory. She hadn’t felt the bite at first. But then it felt like an electric shock, something she could only describe as such. She remembered the way it burned. She remembered how it had felt like her very blood was fighting to stay human. But they didn’t need to know that.

“Do you think you’ve always been immune? Have you been bitten before?”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Immune? How would she have ever known such a thing? And sure, she just ran around getting bitten as often as she could…what a stupid question. It felt more like an insult than anything else.

“Did your parents ever mention anything strange about your health?”

They were really reaching now, weren’t they? The questions were probing deeper, like sharp fingers clawing beneath her skin. She had answered each one as truthfully as she could, even though every answer seemed to only lead to more questions. The curiosity in their eyes, the quiet exchange of glances, was beginning to gnaw at her resolve.

Where the hell is my Alex?

The prodding continued, both physical and psychological. The cold of the metal beneath her, the way the hands on her body felt too clinical, too impersonal. It made her skin crawl. She had been moved to a smaller room. The surface she was lying on was hard and unforgiving. The walls around her had no sense of space. There was no warmth in her world now. She hoped if she complied, she’d stay safe.

The next round of tests was harsher—fragments of flesh ripped from her with a scalpel so sharp it almost felt like it was cutting into her very soul. Her skin stung, the red liquid pooling into sterile vials, but the doctors or scientists or soldiers—whoever they were—barely seemed to notice. Their eyes were trained on the instruments in their hands, not the person they were violating.

The sharp sting of pain was ignored because it wasn’t about her pain. It wasn’t about her. It was about the data, about understanding. She had stopped being Sophia. She had stopped being a person. She had become a specimen—a thing to be studied, analyzed, and dissected.

No one had asked for her consent. Not once. Was that not a thing anymore?

The smell of antiseptic clung to her skin, to her hair. She couldn’t tell if she was clean anymore or if she was just being scrubbed raw. Time had no meaning here. She was no longer sure if it had been hours or days she had spent in their hands. All she knew was that she was experiencing an ever-growing sense that her life was slipping away with every test.

Food was brought, but she couldn’t eat it. Not because it didn’t smell or look good (because it did), but because she couldn’t bring herself to consume anything in this place. The hunger gnawed at her. It left her feeling sick, helpless, unable to do anything but stare at what had been placed in front of her.

Each hour bled into the next.

“We could try controlled exposure,” one of them said matter-of-factly.

Sophia’s breath hitched; the implications of their words slamming into her like a wrecking ball. She’d heard this before. Back on the compound.Controlled exposure.They weren’t trying to help her. They were using her as a living experiment. Nothing more.

That was when she knew. These people had no intention of ever allowing her to leave this place. Not unless she made a choice. Not unless she took control.

Her thoughts turned again to Alex, to her voice—strong, sure, unwavering. “I won’t let this happen.” Alex’s words echoed in her mind, a lifeline that kept her tethered to who she really was.

And in those moments, when she could no longer feel her own body, when the weight of their hands on her skin made her feel like nothing more than a hollow shell, she held onto those words and the thought of the woman she was beginning to have genuine feelings for. She clung to the idea of her lover because it was the only thing that made sense anymore. The only thing that felt real.

Out of nowhere, there was a rise in the tension in the air—a shifting tone. She overheard the guards arguing somewhere outside the room, their voices sharp and full of fear.

“She’s valuable,” one guard muttered, his voice strained. “Could we not make some use of that? Imagine what we’d get for her.”

“No. She’s dangerous,” came the reply, tinged with uncertainty. “I don’t think she is immune. I think she’s one of them. She’s changed, but she’s hiding it well. Zombie Version two-point-oh.”

“What if she’s the key to all this, though?” another voice chimed in.

Sophia’s heart skipped a beat as she blinked away her tears. The final realization burned through her like fire. They had made their decision. They were going to use her until there was nothing left, until the data ran dry, until they had squeezed every last ounce of usefulness from her body. She wasn’t a survivor. She was a test subject. And no matter how they saw her, she couldn’t stay here.

Not anymore.

Sophia found the energy to sit upright on the edge of her cot, her body aching in the aftermath of the last endless round of prodding and poking. Her hands rested limply in her lap, fingers trembling slightly from exhaustion. The compound was so much better than this place. This place was an actual cage. The fact that she had survived changed everything—not just for her, but for everyone inside these walls. She had to get out. But how?

Then, raised voices. Arguing.

Sophia flinched, the sound slicing through the stagnant air like a blade. It came from somewhere down the corridor—outrage. Alex. She’d come.

Her stomach twisted, nausea creeping up her throat. She had learned to endure pain in silence, to swallow every cry, every gasp, because weakness only made things worse. But what was happening with Alex?

Sophia’s breath came in short, uneven bursts. She wanted to move, to do something, but all she could do was sit there, nails digging into her palms, helpless rage curling inside her chest.

The angry voices faded.

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