Thank you to all who favorited, followed and reviewed this story. I personally think that my writing skills are very subpar and it could be better but thank you for sticking with me. This chapter only has 2000 words, and I will try to follow up the rest over the week, if I can. Had exams last week I was too drained, but hopefully I can fill this in fast.

Ch 3: The cars are moving like half a mile an hour

Travis was speeding home.

The four of us were panicking, Nick had remarked about the blood stain on the bumper, but everyone else was silent and shocked. We almost got crushed by a ten-wheeler on our way out of the tunnel, but we decided not to get mad at Travis, who was trying to call his son, Chris.

I brought a hand to massage my temple, trying to forget the horror I just witnessed. We were still trying to work out things with Nick and try to make him stop-for good this time-and now we were in the middle of something we've never seen before. From my train of thoughts, I remembered something that I should've done the moment we exited the tunnel.

"Oh shit." I sat up and pulled my phone out from my pocket. Nick was switching the radio channels, trying to listen to the news for something that could explain what we just saw. He turned to me, leaning back to the seat. "What's wrong?"

"Mom and Dad," I brought my phone to my ear. "I haven't heard from them and this…this thing could have been from other countries." The phone kept ringing, but no one answered.

Nick sighed. "No one's talking about this," he motioned at the radio. "No one's saying anything."

"We need to get away from the city," Travis remarked. I noticed him white-knuckling the steering wheel, and concluded that he was as pretty shaken up and concerned as the rest of us. "We need to get away from people. Just grab Alicia, Liza, Chris…and just go...until we know what this thing is."

"The desert," Madison asked. Travis nodded, "It'll be okay there, we'll be safe."

I knew that they were going to bring me along—I was family—but the thought of leaving behind the house…my parents coming home and noticing that I wasn't there—horrified me. I had to go get my aunt. That way, we could try to reach my parents through an embassy or in some other way, and tell them what the hell was going on and where we were headed in the meantime.

"Travis, you gotta drop me at the hospital." I turned to him. He glanced at me, tight-lipped and shook his head. He wasn't gonna allow me to go get my aunt.

"Clara, it's not safe." Madison pointed out.

"I know! Whatever the heck is going on, it's weird and it's dangerous." I said. "If we're leaving, I'm taking my aunt with us."

"Clara," Nick said warningly. He looked at me like I was crazy, like I was the one high on drugs. "We can just…call her. Okay? Tell her to come to the house."

"No! Okay," I snapped at him, "Just drop me off to the hospital. I'll get her, get some groceries and we'll come back to the house. She's got a car."

Travis eyed me. "What if Irene's not even there? What if she's home, resting? You haven't even called her."

I glanced at my phone. Madison was talking to Alicia, and I'd heard that she was with Matt, but I was tuning it out. I dialed my aunt's number, gritting my teeth as it began to ring.

"Clara?" Aunt Irene sounded confused for a moment, like she hadn't expected me to call her at all. I hardly ever called her, actually, she did all the checking up. I visit her whenever I felt like it, but most of the time I wouldn't tell her I was visiting. I was that person who wouldn't really say anything until someone asked me. "What's wrong?"

"Where are you?" I asked her. Travis was eyeing me, silently trying to listen to the conversation as the car changed course and was heading down to Matt's, which I guessed, where Alicia was as of the moment.

"At the hospital—listen, honey I have a surgery in three hours, call me later, okay?"

"No!" I exclaimed. "Hey, I'm coming over."

"Clara, I—" I hang up, and turned to Travis, asking him to pull over. The hospital was about twenty blocks from where we were, but if they wanted to go get Alicia as soon as possible, I'd run if I have to.

Nick didn't want me to go. He sounded so paranoid—for good reason—but Madison was silent, looking reluctant. Travis relented and I practically threw the door open and ran towards the hospital.

My chest was burning. I wasn't particularly the most athletic person in my school. I did exercise, but my legs were shaking, threatening to give out, my lungs seemed to constrict and not accommodate the oxygen I was inhaling. Hardly anyone paid attention to me as I raced passed buildings and coffee shops. Everyone was just there, like they didn't know what was happening, when I knew that there was something really wrong going on. It felt like the end of the world, but no one else knew.

I was forcing myself to go on, relieved to finally see the hospital in full view. My calves felt like they caught fire, my lungs never expanding. I didn't hate the hospital. The smell of disinfectants bothered a lot of people, but not me. There weren't a lot of people there, just the usual amount that you'd see on a normal day. Finally, I reached the hospital, almost crashing into a nurse and demanded to see Dr. Stanley. She looked annoyed, but asked me to go to the station anyway.

"She's set to have a surgery in about three hours." The nurse answered. "Okay," I said. I was still panting so hard, I raised my hand to wipe out the cold sweat escaping from my forehead. You're okay. Deep breaths, hold, exhale through the mouth. "She's in Anesthesia? I'm her niece." Seeing her nod in confirmation, I thanked her and went to my Aunt.

Irene Stanley was leaning on her chair, reading through files, looking tired and drained, yet still annoyingly beautiful. She looked up when she heard the door close, and her peaceful face turned into a scowl. "Clara, I told you I have a su—"

"Aunt Irene please," I started. I didn't know if I should tell her the truth, I feared she wouldn't believe me. There was a possibility that she would, but knowing her, she wouldn't leave the hospital when nothing has been confirmed. "We need to get home. There's something wrong."

Then, she looked pissed at me. She dropped the files she was reading on the table and leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. It was a silent gesture for me to go on and explain.

"The virus…and the shootings…I think they're connected." I looked at her, gauging for a reaction, but her face was stoic. "People die…and come back to life—or something. They turn rabid and they attack people—that's why the police are forced to shoot them. It—it's not safe here, we need to get away from people." I looked down and saw that my hands were shaking. I tried to form them into fists but I didn't have a lot of strength. I sat there, trying to clench my hands into fists, getting frustrated that I was too weak to do so. But when I looked up into my aunt's eyes, I knew what she was thinking.

"Clara," her voice was so soft, barely a whisper, as if she was trying to coax me into something, like I was a child. "Are you…high?"

I stiffened. "What? No! Aunt Irene—" But she was quick, suddenly she was there kneeling in front of me, her hands around mine, forcing me to look into her eyes. "Clara. Are. You. High?" She had emphasized every word, noticing how my hands were shaking. She looked disappointed, the annoyance I saw on her face when I came to see her was replaced with sadness.

"I'm not high, Aunt Irene."

She was looking at me like I hadn't said anything.

"Clara, look at me. Look at me." I hated the way she talked, like she was talking to some child, someone who couldn't understand long, drawn-out sentences. "When was the last time you came in contact with heroin?"

I shook my head. Too long. I turned to face her, looking at her dead in the eyes. "I'm. Not. High." One of her hands were on my wrist and I knew what she was trying to do: she was trying to tell if I would lie or not based on my pulse.

She nodded, her head dropping down as she sighed in what I assumed to be relief. She let go of my hands and leaned against her table. "Then what are you doing here?"

That time, I gave out a scoff. "Have you not been listening to a word I was saying?"

"I merely assumed that your half-assed explanation was concocted under the influence of heroin or other recreational drugs."

"We need to evacuate now, Aunt Irene. There's something terribly wrong with the flu-it turns people into some kind of rabid animals. We need to tell mom and dad."

"Clara," she was shaking her head and checked the time on her watch, "Even if what you're saying is true, we are nowhere in a state of emergency. If some kind of epidemic is here, there authorities would have informed us. Now," she was now seated back on her chair, tearing up a piece of paper and writing something on it, "If you really need to call Aiden and Lydia, this is the number they gave me. I have to go, Clara. I have a surgery."

I threw myself on her seat, leaning back as she slammed the door behind her. "God fucking damn it."

In that moment, I didn't know what to do. I felt like I only had three options: one was to wait for my aunt to finish her surgery and drag her ass out of the hospital and drive straight to Madison's. Two, not wait for her to even begin the surgery and somehow haul her reluctant and mad-as-all-hell ass to Madison's. Three, I could just leave her alone. The thing about the third option though, was it didn't feel like the right thing at all. The hospital was full of sick people and one of them-even the patient she was going to attend to-might bite my aunt's face off, or worse, she could be sick herself and result to her dying and becoming one of the animated corpses. But staying there wouldn't be good in terms of self-preservation, I thought to myself.

I stood up, ready to haul my aunt's ass away from the hospital, when my phone vibrated on my phone. I was sprinting towards the door as I pulled it out of my pocket, accidentally knocking my head against the door as I was trying to open it at the same time. I went to the nurses' station, silently noting to myself that it was Madison who was calling me. "Hey," I called to the nurse behind the receiving area. The nurse was a young male, slight build with olive skin and sporting a buzz cut. He gave me a grin as he shuffled some papers. "How can I help you?"

"Is Dr. Stanley in the operating room? She's got a surgery in like three hours."

"Uh," he looked hesitant to give up the location of the doctor, "And who's asking?"

"Her niece," I answered, glancing at my phone again, "Clara Evans."

"Mother's side or father's?"

I couldn't believe this asshole. He was actually trying to force me to state a little bit of the family history. "Father's side. Their parents had a divorce, Dad kept their father's family name, Irene changed her last name to Stanley, her mother's maiden name." He nodded, and I scoffed, "What the hell was that for, you ass? Just tell me where my aunt is."

"Yeah, she's in. Obviously you're not allowed inside the operating room, so you gotta wait a few hours. And, if you must know," he smirked at me, "Irene dated my sister, she told me about their parent's divorce. Just wanna make sure you're really her niece."

"Great," I forced a smile, "Hope I made your day." I turned and raced to the elevator, closing it and catching a glimpse of the nurse opening his mouth-probably to remind me that I wasn't allowed to barge into the operating room.