Chapter 2
Arrival
/ooOOOoo\
"Hurry! The treatment is happening sooner than expected! Get those people out of the way! Prepare the injection site."
A fortified and secluded area within the upper arm was bustling with cellular activity. Red blood cells were scurrying back and forth, overseen by a lone brain cell who was far removed from her area of expertise due to the crisis at hand.
Stella Purkinje observed the large receptacle being prepared for the new arrival with tired eyes, red-rimmed from lack of rest. Like the other cells in the area, she wore a full-body protective suit, fully intending to do her part to help in any way. Even with such a vital and nerve-wracking event, and constantly shouting orders to the scurrying red blood cells below, it was all she could do to just keep her eyes open. Stella was the head advisor for the current mayor stand-in within the decimated city of Linda. Very recently appointed to her position, it was extremely stressful to be given such an important task.
Once the injection site was sealed off completely, she gestured for the workers to back away. Another cell walked up to her and spoke in her ear. She straitened, and addressed the cells present. "Okay! Incoming in roughly thirty seconds, people!"
Everyone held their breath and silently counted down amongst themselves. At about twenty-seven seconds, the ground beneath them was unsettled and a huge chromatic spike split the center of the quarantined area. A moment afterward it released a liquid that sloshed outward to lap at the walls around it, before the needle point departed.
Stella squinted down at scene; searching for something, anything, when she finally spotted a tiny limp form curled upon itself on the ground where it had washed up next to one of the walls. Several red blood cells immediately moved into the sealed area to close the relatively small puncture wound, while four others approached the still body near the wall, bearing weapons as a precautionary measure. After a moment's uncertainty, Stella joined them.
Getting a closer look, the new arrival was even smaller than he at first appeared. About as tall as the cellular equivalent of a ten-year-old boy, though very thin, he seemed lifeless. Gray, hard skin covered his body. Even so obviously young, the virus showed no resemblance to a cell's soft features. Six dark protrusions that were each about as long as Stella's small finger arched back from where the boy's hairline would have been, if he were human. The advisor thought she saw claws extending from the hands that were tucked underneath his body. What is this? Did they send an unattentuated pathogen to us?
One of the larger red blood cells prodded the limp virus with the end of his gun. In disgust, Stella shoved the offender out of the way and reached out cautiously, more out of dread that the boy was no longer living, than any fear of danger. Spotting something on the back of his neck she tilted his head to get a better look, shocked by feverish heat she discovered emanating from his skin, even through the protective gloves. Shallowly indented on the back of his neck, vertically, were the letters: ThR:AX.
"Thrax…"
Vibrant, barely lucid yellow eyes shot open. Thrax's pupils shrank to tiny pinpricks that were nearly invisible in the strangely violent hue of his irises. He jerked into an upright sitting position and backed into the wall. The suited red blood cells, along with Stella, backed up, surprised by the sudden movement, and the former raised their weapons.
The young virus had a distinctly feverish, confused expression as his gaze darted between all five of his immediate company. Unconsciously making himself seem smaller, his two-toed feet were tucked underneath his body and delicate claws were held in a passive position close to the virus's body. Thrax was shaking involuntarily with such vigor that they were almost convulsions.
Seeing the undertone of pain that appeared out of place in a child's eyes, Stella's defensive stance relaxed. "You." She said to the cell closest to her, who started and pointed at himself as if to say 'who, me?' "Go get a blanket for the boy. Can't you see he's shivering?" Slightly baffled, he rushed to do as she bid.
Stella was shocked again when, right after the cell left, the young virus lurched forward and heaved clear liquid onto the ground. On instinct, She reached out to him with a one-armed embrace, tracing soothing circles on his back with the palm of her hand. The tense moment passed, and now Thrax was frantically gasping in shuddering and raspy breaths. The brain cell wasn't sure, but she thought his grey skin might have pinkened slightly at this.
The red blood cell returned, pushing through the others huddling around to hand a thin, green blanket to Stella. She was glad the blanket was so flimsy. She knew the virus would probably appreciate it, but it would raise his disconcerting temperature even more. Stella wrapped the calming and unresisting virus in the blanket, being careful of the sharp claws. She may have been just an office official, but she knew enough about the dangers of viruses, no matter how small.
Avoiding said appendages, Stella was surprised to note what appeared to be a missing index finger on his left hand. A slight turn of the wrist and a closer examination revealed that to not be the case. A claw that was much longer than the others appeared to be locked in a bent position, the tip resting lightly next to Thrax's forearm. The smaller claws twitched and moved slightly, independent of this foreclaw, which she speculated might be a paralyzed deformation. That wouldn't be surprising. After all, according to their intelligence lines this was only an experimental virus.
Once the blanket was securely wrapped around Thrax, Stella had one of the larger workers assist her in carrying the virus out of the safety zone. The punctured area was nearly sealed, so they were free to leave the confines of the quarantine as long as there were plenty of specially trained red blood cells nearby to act as security. Since the virus appeared to be no immediate threat, the only other safety measures they were required to make were a pair of cuffs that barely fit the tiny wrists, in order to restrict the range of those sharp, dangerous claws.
Thrax grew increasingly lethargic and complacent, and didn't flinch at all when his wrists were bound; didn't cringe or resist when he was stowed in the back of a large truck with a troupe of anxious-looking cells, including Stella.
Seeing him sitting there on the floor, Stella looked with sadness at their one remaining hope for a future. He's just a child… This changes everything.
The truck was soon moving, leaving Linda's arm behind and traveling along a blood stream hidden deep within muscles and tissue. Thrax fell into a sort of lucid unconsciousness. It wasn't sleep; his eyes remained open, but empty, unnerving more than a few of the compartment's other occupants. The vehicle rolled onward in its journey toward the brain.