This is my first story. It's based off of the Iphone app "Plague Incorporated" which is really awesome and I highly recommend checking it out. I'll have the second chapter up later this week. I'm not completely done with it, but I should be able to keep myself on schedule.

I do not own any of the material used in this story, or take ownership rights to it.

I hope you guys like it!

"It takes just a spark to ignite a flame that takes a million men to quench."

October 15th, 2014, 179 days since infection:

The burning was unbearable, the thurst uncurable, the inhuman stench that rose from the beds clogged the air like a fog, the few men and women left to tend to the slowly dying bodies wore protective oxygen masks, rubber gloves, and hazmat suits. But they all knew the horrid fact: They were dead men, all of them. They had seen it first hand, no matter what protection they took, they were destined to die, every single one.

It was only a matter of time.

June 12th, 2014 9 days since infection:

9:00 AM:

"Orange juice! Daddy, I want the orange juice! Daddy!"

"Oh, uh, what is it, Honey?" Ron's attention on the television was broken by the request.

"Can you please pass the orange juice?" Said Ron's five year old daughter Hatty, clearly annoyed by her father's actions.

Ron quickly spun his chair back to the table and poured his daughter's drink. She was a small child for her age, skinny as a bean too. But he loved her. The doctors said that she wouldn't live past six months, but here she was, a bright blue eyed wonder; full of life as anyone.

"Daddy, you're doing it again," she noted.

Ron smiled as he placed the lid on the bottle and stood up to put it away. The house had become quieter without his wife Kat. Letting her take that job at the bank was a bad idea. He could've figured something out, he always figured things out. But the facts were the facts, he was out of a job, Hatty needed her medications, and the rent needed to be paid.

But staying home had its perks, his job had kept him so busy he almost never got to see his family, let alone have any relaxation time with them. Kat had said it would be a good thing to lay low for a while, let things take their course. They had enough cash in savings to help them out if things got tough.

Hatty got up from the table and ran off to her room. "Didn't even ask," he chuckled, "never was much good that that."

He went about his normal morning chores, cleaning the kitchen, and working on that leak under the sink. After fifteen minutes of laying on his back gluing pipes together he heard the doorbell ring.

"Hatty? Would you get that Sweety?" He cursed under his breath, he wasn't supposed to expose her like that. He started to slide out from under the counter when Hatty came up from behind.

"There's a man here. Says he knows you from, "Kar-tath-mabrin?" She slowly attempted to pronounce.

Karathin, the medical research facility, his old job. He stood up, brushing the rust and dirt from his shirt as he went for the door. "Who was this guy?" He thought, "what does he want?"

He paused at the hallway, "Hatty? Go play in your room like a good girl, would you? Daddy needs to have a grown-up conversation."

She nodded, glad to get back to her toys.

Ron straightened out his stained shirt, ran his fingers through his hair, pulling out a glob of plumbers putty. "Well, first impressions," he mumbled as he opened the door.

Standing behind the door was a man Ron knew well. "David!" exclamed Ron, reaching out to shake his hand, "what brings you here?"

David refused the handshake, he stepped back, eyes somber, almost sad.

"What's wrong?" asked Ron, "What's going on?"

"I've just gotten back from Mexico Ron."

"Well, uh, that's nice" said Ron, startled by David's actions. Something was wrong, David never acted like this. He was always a happy man, glad to see you, and sad to say goodbye. "Would you like to come in? The kitchen is a bit out of ord-"

"Ron." David cut him off. "Ron I'm afraid I've got some bad news.

It was now that Ron noticed his eyes, glazed white, bloodshot like no man's should be. And his hands, white, shaking, the veins sunken, like the blood was sucked out of them. Something was indeed very wrong.

"You remember Q-6 don't you?" He continued.

"Well yeah," Ron replied, taking a step back, his eyes growing wide, "we all do, that little virus never made it past stage three, we killed it within a week. What's it got to do with anything?"

"Everything." He stated,"We didn't kill it. We just made it stronger."

Ron took a few more steps back, wondering at what point he should reach for the gun in the closet.

"You recall the stages? David asked, "Stage one: Minor cough, low bloodcell count, small red rashes form on body. Stage two:" he stared walking foward slowly, his words slurring together, "Muscle stiffining, stomach bleeding, minor loss of brain function."

Ron was good and frightened by this point. David wasn't himself, he was something, something different.

"Stage three: Virus looses all strength, dying." He paused, catching his breath. "That was the lie, right there. It didn't die, it never dies, it goes dormant."

Ron was backing up quickly now, taking two steps to David's one.

"But that can't be," Ron whispered, "it died, I saw it with my own eyes!"

"Yes, yes you did, and then you left, came back home, leaving us there. The virus thrives on itself, the more infected, the faster it grows. You left us there, left us there with thousands of infected people. Left us for stage four"

David paused, his pale, dead eyes staring into Ron's skull.

"Stage four:" he continued, "total loss of all normal brain function, death of all red bloodcells, muscles go static, burning scabs, followed by death."

His words sank into Ron. They both stood still, Ron's terrified eyes meeting David's. He glanced over to the closet; he could make it, he thought. But David saw him, and he stepped back.

"There's no need to do that Ron," he said almost jokingly, "there's no kill or be killed, only kill until you are killed. Don't you see?! We all have it! We're all infected! Every single one! And once it reaches stage four, ohhhh, once it gets ther-"

"STOP IT!" Ron suddenly burst out, "Stop it right now David!"

"Oh, so you don't see, do you," whispered David, "there's no stopping it, there never will be. We're all dead men, dead men walking."

"Will you help us find a cure?" Inquired Ron.

"Oh, no. There is no cure." Ron noticed David reaching behind his back. "There never was, and there never will be." He slowly pulled a gun out from his belt. Ron panicked. He jumped for the closet, pulling his Glock 9m on the thing standing in his doorway.

David didn't even flinch. "I'm not gonna let this thing kill me." He lifted the gun to his head.

"Don't make me do this." Ron grunted, tears burning his eyes. "Please, please don't."

"I'll leave that to me." He pulled the trigger.