Chapter One: Amnesia
The infusion center is bitter cold and eerily quiet. I lay in the chair, fiddling with the TV remote trying to find a station that wasn't riddled by stupid reality shows. I stop once I see the price is right, and realize that this is as good as it's going to get. I'm not a big fan of television; I prefer to use Netflix so I can choose what kind of shows I would like to watch. My machine beeps loudly and obnoxiously over and over as I wait for my nurse to return, so she can unplug me. "Alright, you are all done," she states, perkily unhooking the tube connected to the bag of cisplatin. "Are you excited that this is your last day of chemotherapy?" she asks, gently slipping the IV out of the vein in my hand.
Her eyes are so hopeful and expectant, so I reply with a "Yes," enthusiastically. Honestly though, I can't really say that I'm happy exactly. I'm glad that it is all over for now, but what will happen in 2 or 3 years when I'm getting checked to see if the cancer has returned? I can't help but worry about the future and what kind of results I will get from doctors. For now though, I have to remain hopeful. It's the only way that I can live like this. I have to keep a positive outlook and hope for the best. "Okay, you're all set," she says, with a smile. She pats my bruised arm, comfortingly. I smile back at her and push all of the blankets off of my freezing legs so that I can lift myself out of the chair. "You need help?" she asks. "Nope, I've got it. Thanks," I reply standing and fetching my purse from the floor.
"Remember to call if you have a fever of over 102," she reminds me. "Yes, yes. I know Tatiana. I've been here a million times before, remember?" I tease, readying myself to leave. I search the floor for any items I might have left behind, it's all clear. "Just doing my job," she utters, throwing her hands in the air as if to say don't shoot the messenger. I nod and give her a hug before leaving, "Thanks for everything Tati" I voice. "No problem," she responds, returning the hug. Before I turn to leave she shouts, "Hardcore!" I laugh at our own personal joke. The first time I came into the infusion center she had to give me a huge shot that went into my muscle, the first thing I said was "Bring it on," and she replied with "Hardcore!"
I would miss Tatiana, she is such a sweet nurse, but I would certainly not miss the place. It reeks of illness and death, and I did not need any more of that in my life.
"Is she bitten? Did you check?!" a deep voice bellows, stirring me from my dream. My eyelashes feel as if they are glued together, as I attempt to pry them open, painfully. "Quick, she's waking up!" someone shouts. I feel two firm hands holding my arms down, as my eyes rip open to see a burly, dark-haired man holding me purposefully to the ground. I thrash about in a panic, struggling to break from his hold, but his grip is strong and forceful. "Would you get the fuck off me? I'm not bitten so let me go!" I scream out, kicking out at the male figure. "Calm down, everything will be fine. You don't need to worry about anyone hurting you," another male speaks, his voice calm and articulate.
From what I could see, I am being held in some sort of a make-shift tent, lying on someone's sleeping mat. "Well, she's some spitfire," the man holding me down states in a thick southern drawl, fighting against my wriggling body. He glances up at the other male figure that I assume to be a leader of some sort. "What do we do with her? I'm not holding 'er down all day" he asks, pushing my arms further into the fabric. I wince, his grip straining my muscles, but I continue to thrash against him certainly not wanting to give in. I don't know what these people want, but I'm not going down without a fight. "We'll have Lori come in and take a look at her to make sure there are no bites. We're not taking any chances. If she's bitten then she won't be allowed to stay," the man standing next to the one holding me pronounces. "Won't be allowed to stay? We need to shoot her straight in the head if she's bitten," the one holding me down, retorts. The other one sighs and takes a moment to respond, "We'll deal with that when we get to it."
"Look, I'm not bitten I swear. I don't want any trouble now, so can you just let me go?" I plead, my voice coming out weak from exhaustion. "Like I said before, don't worry. We won't hurt you. We just have to make sure that you won't turn," the leader replies. "My name is Rick, and this is Daryl. My wife Lori will come in to make sure that you're clean. I'm sorry for all of this but it's just a precaution" he continues, looking down at me sympathetically. Rick leaves and I sigh, finally relaxing against Daryl's stringent grasp upon my arms. Might as well conserve my energy for when I really need it, for fighting those "things" out there. I narrow my eyes up at the man called Daryl, "You can let me go now. I won't fight you," I state. He raises a brow humorously, "Like I should believe you. I ain't stupid. I know you're just 'gonna run away" he replies. I shrug, complacently, "Suit yourself," I say.
He does not release me but his grip relaxes on my arms slightly. This is my chance to escape, I realize. I move to head butt him in the face but a woman enters the tent suddenly, distracting me momentarily. My action does not go unnoticed and Daryl pushes me back towards the ground, pressing his elbow into my jugular. "I told you I ain't stupid," he replies, his dark green eyes glaring into mine. I glower at him angrily, mentally wishing that I could punch him in the face. "Let her go Daryl," the woman commands, crossing her arms over her chest, crossly. I notice that it was the woman from earlier, struggling with the walker in the woods. "She could be a threat to all of us, I ain't letting her go," Daryl responds, refusing to release me. "I said to let her go Daryl, she saved my life. She ain't no threat," the woman replies. The two stare at each for a long moment, having some sort of Mexican stand-off. Finally, Daryl releases me and I rub the sore marks on my arms and wrists, trying to relieve the aching pain. "I don't got time for this shit. 'You want a walker running loose around camp then fine, you deal with it," he retorts, pushing the woman out of his way before sauntering towards the tent flap. "Women," he mutters under his breath before he exits.
"What an ass-wipe," I murmur, accidentally saying the words aloud. I look away embarrassed, but the woman laughs at my comment. "Yea, he can be a real ass-wipe sometimes but he is real useful towards this group and it would be a shame to lose him," she states, moving closer towards me. I move closer towards the wall of the tent, still distrustful towards these people. "Don't be scared. I'm not here to hurt you. My name is Lori, what's your name?" she asks, comfortingly. I stare up at her, unexpectedly confused. What is my name? I tried to remember, but my memories acted like a scratched record, continuously playing on a loop. I remember waking up in the forest and I remember protecting Lori. I remember understanding what a walker is, but not knowing why or how I did. It was as if my memory was damaged or something. "I…don't remember," I respond, rubbing my head slowly. "That's alright, just relax, no need to stress out or anything. I'm sure it will come to you," she answers, soothingly. I nod in understanding and decide that she means me no harm, so I relax against the mat and close my eyes, attempting to relax.
"I need to check you for bites if you don't mind. I'm going to lift up your shirt, is this okay?" she asks, politely. I nod my head without opening my eyes and she lifts up my shirt, no doubt examining for bite marks. I know that a walker's bite can turn you into one of them, but how do I know that? I can't remember. I couldn't remember anything before the incident in the forest with Lori. I open my eyes and notice Lori inspecting my arms for any sort of marks. "You have an awful bruise here, what happened?" she asks, pointing towards the blemish on my hand. I stare at the bruise, focusing solely on it, hoping that it would conjure up a memory. I notice that it trailed along my vein, like it was caused by something being injected into my bloodstream. A needle, a bag of fluid, an IV…all of a sudden I could remember one thing. "I don't remember," I respond, glancing away from her eyes to stare at the side of the tent. I don't know how large this group is, but if it is as safe as it appears, I should make nice with them. However, if they knew that I had been sick before, I would be viewed as a weakness or maybe even a liability.
I need to be accepted into this group if I want to live. If I tried to make it on my own, I would have a stiff chance at surviving. After all that I've been through; I of all people should truly know the importance of survival, and what comes with that price.