Disclaimer: I own nothing.


The overhead lights—always on, always buzzing with compressed energy—shut off without warning. The glass doors unlocked on a click and slid open with a soft whoosh. Outside in the cramped corridor, strips of blue emergency light illuminated the floor.

Jane sat up in bed.

In her sixty-five days, nine hours, and thirteen minutes locked inside her glass prison, her life had become a series of constants. She could rely on the fluorescent lighting to aggravate the persistent dull headache in the back of her skull. She could rely on the food to be pale and tasteless. She could rely on her treatments to be delivered with nary a glance or word. And she could rely on going to sleep each night with the knowledge she would spend the rest of her days poked and prodded until her captors were satisfied their answers. These constants kept her grounded. The monotony of each day, which might drive others mad, gave her something to hold on to. She found ticking off the mental checklist of daily events stopped her from beating on the glass, screaming until her lungs gave out, demanding the freedom she could never have, or simply ending it all on her own.

So, when the door opened and footsteps pounded across the floor upstairs, she knew something was not right. The perfectly predictable shell she so relied on to keep her whole had shattered.

For a long moment, she sat on the edge of her bed. Her toes grazed the cool cement floor. The clock on the wall ticked to a steady beat. She waited, wondered if someone would come get her and shuffle her into a quarantined vehicle for transport. Perhaps the laboratory had run out of power or there were better resources and more scientists elsewhere.

When the gunfire began, she knew two things at once: no one was coming and she was defenseless.

Sliding from the bed, she dropped to the floor as heavy footfalls, rapid gunfire, and throaty screams filled the laboratory. She crawled to the doorway and peered into the hallway, eyes straining in the dim light to make out the cause of the commotion. Nothing but the pale blue light along the floor; the basement was quiet, serene as it always was so late at night. Still, the shooting upstairs continued.

She knew what was out in the world. She had experienced it first-hand. If the laboratory had been overrun with Creatures, she was no stranger to defending herself. In her life before capture, she had grown quite skilled in handling a knife or gun. But down here in the basement, she was without protection. She wasn't allowed anything which could be turned to a weapon, not even a toothbrush.

She ran the numbers. The scientists who studied her had scanned their IDs upon exit many hours earlier, their desks shut down, their work fruitless. Normally, an armed guard stood at the only doorway in the basement. He controlled who came in and who went out. Tonight, he was nowhere to be seen. She was alone, and whatever was upstairs was drawing closer. A generous estimate put her chance at survival near thirty percent if a single Creature came through the door. With no weapon, she would have to find something else to render the beast powerless, but she believed she could make do. But if more than one Creature came hobbling into the basement, her chance at survival plummeted—no matter her biological advantage. She would have to risk it. With the glass doors open, she would be a fool to sit and wait for someone to come get her. This was her chance to escape.

Rising to her feet, Jane drew in a deep breath. The last time she'd be on the other side of her glass cell she'd been foolish. She'd been trusting—covered in dirt and blood, but trusting. No longer. She was hardened now. Doctor Henderson was to blame for that.

She stepped over the threshold and paused, waiting for an alarm to sound or electric current to run through the industrial carpet to her brain. Nothing happened. The only sounds came from the commotion above and the whirr of an overhead fan. Her own breathing sounded loud in the stillness. With timid steps, she all but tip-toed her way across the floor, her bare feet ensuring her movements remained quiet. For ten or so steps, she made her way to the door with relative ease. She counted every step, every gun shot. The numbers, they kept her focused.

A jolt of pain burst through her leg when her big toe connected with the corner of a desk. She dropped to the floor with a muttered, "Shit!"

The door handle jiggled, and the pain disappeared, replaced at once with fear. Rolling to her knees, she wasted no time in crawling the rest of the way to the side hall. The blue emergency lights did not extend to the hallway designated for the only bathroom in the basement. Here, there was total darkness. She tucked herself behind a waste bin, knees to her chest, and shuddered when something heavy threw itself against the door. The frame rattled.

The only way out of the building was through that door. If she wanted to do it, if she wanted to make a run for it, she would have to face whatever was on the other side.

Again, the door shook against the weight of the intruder.

She couldn't sit and wait for the inevitable. Whoever was on the other side of the door—Creature or not—more than likely wasn't friendly. If they knew what she was, her life could very well be in danger. She needed a plan and she needed one fast. She glanced to her right and inched her way to the bathroom door. For the moment, she would hide, formulate some sort of attack plan while she still had the time.

The ceramic tile was cold on her hot palms when she crawled into the bathroom. Moonlight filtered through a textured glass window high on the wall. She exhaled and the sound seemed to echo.

A hand clamped over her mouth, the fingers strong and tight. Jane struggled against the arm thrown over her chest which dragged her backwards into a stall. She screamed against the hand and scrabbled for purchase on the slick tiles. No matter the effort, she was too small, too weak to fight the assailant. The assailant kicked the stall door shut.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

Jane stilled at the familiar voice. She mumbled a name against the hand over her mouth.

"Yes, it's me. Now would you shut the hell up? Do you want them to hear us?"

She shook her head. All the data she'd gathered during her time behind walls ran in circles around her head. What was he doing here?

"Okay… I'm going to remove my hand, but I swear, if you make a peep, I'll have to shut you up some other way." He paused, as if hesitating. "Do you promise?"

At her eager nod, he slowly lifted one finger at a time until his hand was gone. The arm around her chest relaxed.

Jane pushed herself to the other side of the stall as fast as she could. "Arthur?"

Acne-ridden and pudgy, Arthur Stine swiped a towel against his sweaty brow. "What? Did you miss me?"

Her jaw hung slack in disbelief. "I thought you were fired."

"Quit, actually." He pushed his coke-bottle glasses up his nose. "The health benefits here suck, if you can believe it."

She blinked, unsure if he was joking or serious. She never knew with Arthur. Though none of the scientists tasked with observing her ever made direct contact, Arthur was the closest to have nearly crossed that line. On his final day in the laboratory a month prior, in a fit of righteous anger, he stood up from his work desk and unleashed hellfire on his colleagues. He was the first to ever call her by name—Jane, as in Jane Doe. She had rankled at the way his fat finger pointed at her, sitting as ever on her cot within the fish bowl. She'd grown so accustomed to being invisible she'd forgotten what it felt like to be seen. Yet with that fat finger, he'd given her a name. He'd given her hope.

Her moment of reflection was cut short. The sound of metal upon metal grated on her ears, and Arthur stumbled to his legs. He poked his head around the corner of the stall. A battering ram slammed against the basement door. The foundation of the building seemed to shake, or perhaps it was only Jane's nerves. What was she doing in here? Huddling up with Arthur Stine would not save her. She had to get out—and soon.

She moved to a crouching position and reached out to tug on the hem of Arthur's plaid shorts. He cast a hasty look over his shoulder and shushed her with a wave of his hand and harsh whisper. The battering ram struck again. Jane swore she heard a hinge pop off and clatter to the floor.

"The door won't hold much longer," Arthur said, his words quiet, as though meant for only himself.

Before Jane could ask him what in the hell he was doing here, he darted from the stall. She followed, urgency forcing her to keep moving. He grabbed the wooden chair from the only shower stall. Jane had been lucky enough to use it a total of ten times throughout her stay. It creaked under any weight and the feet were rotten with water damage. Arthur shoved the back under the bathroom door handle then stepped away.

"That should hold 'em an extra minute or two." His sneakers squealed as he turned sharp on his heel. He grabbed her shoulders, his sausage fingers digging into her skin. She gasped and jerked backwards. When was the last time she'd been touched?

"Sorry!" He dropped his hold. Shame flittered across his face before it was replaced by determination. He rooted around in his pants pocket, mumbling, "Hold on, I have something," before producing a kitchen knife. The five-inch blade glinted when the moonlight hit it. "Take it," he said.

Jane swallowed hard. "I don't understand. Why are you here, Arthur? You were fired."

Arthur shoved the knife in her direction. "Take it, Jane. Now!" She'd never heard his voice so angry and so pleading at the same time. Something wasn't right; he shouldn't be here. Still, she hesitated.

The gunfire, the power failure, the battering ram—none of it made sense. The numbers didn't add up. Pickens County, Georgia had more deaths than births before the outbreak. When the Creatures hit, the county all but disappeared completely. The few survivors fled; the Creatures moved on in search of more prey. The laboratory had remained untouched, unnoticed by human or otherwise, since it began its research. For Doctor Henderson, completely isolation from the rest of humanity's survivals was perfect. Until he could be sure, no one could know what and who Jane Doe may be. So, how could there be gunfire when no scientist was allowed a firearm? How could someone know about the basement when the upstairs was the shell of a grocery store?

Her stomach dropped. Jane staggered backward. "Oh my God… You sold me out."

In the moonlight, Arthur looked closer to a child than a man. He offered the knife again. "Take it… please…"

With chest heaving, Jane walked backward until her back met the wall's cool tile. "Tell me what you did." He said nothing, only looked away. "Tell me, Arthur!"

At last, the basement door broke. She heard it fall to the ground with a resounding thud, heard the footsteps, saw the sweep of flashlight beams underneath the bathroom door. They were out of time.

Arthur surged forward and pressed the knife into her hand. His palm was sweaty. "I know what you are, Jane," he said. "You're our savior."

In one fluid motion, Arthur lifted Jane from her waist and shoved her through the rectangular window overhead. She was lithe, having lost weight since the outbreak and lost even more since her captivity began. But Arthur was weak and the window was small. She would have thought…

Only there she was, lying on her back beside Monty's Grocery. Loose pebbles dug into her back and a chill breeze swept over her body. Above, stars twinkled in the sky. Her eyes fluttered shut as the sound of crickets, not the hum of electricity, eased her mind.

"For God's sake, Jane, get up!" Jane opened her eyes and turned her head. Through the darkness, she could only make out Arthur's eyes. They stared at her with alarming earnest. "Get as far away from here as you can."

He shoved a canvas bag through the window, and she rolled over to pull it close. Pulling it open, she looked through: bread wrapped in soft cloth, a single bottle of water, a map of the state, four vials of her treatment.

"Why? What does this mean?"

A sound she could not hear scared Arthur. He twisted to look over his shoulder into the bathroom, slammed the window shut, and was gone.

For a moment, Jane sat in the silence, stunned.

He must have told someone about her, about what she meant for the future of the world if Doctor Henderson was right. He'd gone on about Henderson before he left—how he was denying the world salvation and keeping a possible miracle under wraps for his own benefit. Arthur must have given what information he knew away; something must have happened to make him change his mind.

She saw the blood splatter before she heard the gunshot. Arthur's blood covered the window, and his horrified screams curdled Jane's stomach. Her feet slipped across the dew-slick rocks as she tried to run. The image of Shaggy and Scooby Doo running in midair before escaping from their newest villain came to mind, and she felt foolish for it. Nonetheless, she ran—as far and as fast as her lungs could take her until she was forced to stop.

She found shelter in a shed on the outskirts of town just as the sky opened and rain washed away any trail she left behind. Dropping to the ground, she tore open the bottle of water but forced herself to take a small sip. In her haste, an envelope fell from the bag. She stared at it long and hard before ripping it open. Inside was a silver chain with a single lotus flower charm, a symbol of rebirth. She knew because it was the only possession she had left in this world. Her fist curled around the necklace. Leaning against the doorframe, she looked toward the horizon and listened to the rain pitter-patter against the roof.

She was Jane Doe. She was immune to the outbreak, and she was free.