Chapter 7: Matt
The plan to leave for the cabin died Saturday morning when Alicia's phone finally rang.
She'd been checking it obsessively for two days, pacing the living room with the device clutched in her hand. When it buzzed, she nearly dropped it.
"Matt? Matt, where have you been?" Her voice pitched high with relief. Then her expression changed. "What? No, I can hear you fine, you sound—wait, slow down."
I watched from the kitchen doorway, coffee cooling in my hand. Madison stopped packing supplies. Nick looked up from the map he'd been studying.
Alicia pressed the phone harder against her ear. "You're sick? What kind of sick?" Pause. "I'm coming over. No, I don't care what your parents said. I'm coming over right now."
She hung up and grabbed her keys from the counter.
"Alicia, wait." Madison moved to intercept. "What did he say?"
"He's been sick for two days. Fever, chills. His parents told him not to call anyone, they thought it was just flu." Her hands shook. "He sounds bad, Mom. Really bad."
Flu doesn't take two days to kill you. The virus does.
"Where does he live?" I asked.
"Why?" Alicia's eyes were defensive, desperate.
"Because you're not going alone."
"I don't need—"
"You do. If he's as sick as you think, he might not be thinking clearly. Fever does that. You'll want backup."
Madison caught my meaning before Alicia did. "Jax is right. If Matt's that ill, he should be at a hospital, not alone at home."
"His parents are doctors. They're taking care of him."
"Where are his parents now?" I pressed.
Alicia faltered. "He... he said they went to get medicine. They've been gone since last night."
Dead. Almost certainly dead. Either bitten while out, or never coming back because the city was falling apart.
"I'm driving you," I said. Not a request.
"Fine. Whatever. Let's go."
Nick stood. "I'm coming too."
"Someone needs to stay with Mom," Alicia snapped. Then, softer: "Please, Nick. Just... stay here."
We took my car. Alicia gave terse directions, staring out the window at streets that looked emptier than they should on a Saturday morning. A few houses had boards on the windows already. One had a hand-painted sign: ARMED HOUSEHOLD - STAY AWAY.
"People are scared," Alicia said quietly.
"They should be."
"Matt's going to be fine. It's probably just flu. Bad timing, but just flu."
"Yeah. Probably."
She looked at me, searching for certainty I couldn't give her. "You don't believe that."
"I believe we should check on him."
Matt's house was in a decent neighborhood—middle-class, well-maintained, two stories with a manicured lawn. His parents' cars sat in the driveway, both looking untouched. No movement visible through the windows.
Alicia was out of the car before I'd fully stopped, running to the front door. It was unlocked. She pushed inside, calling his name.
I followed, hand on the Glock at my waist.
The house was dark. Curtains drawn, lights off. The air smelled wrong—sickness and something else. Decay, maybe. Or fear-sweat.
"Matt?" Alicia's voice echoed up the stairwell.
A weak response from upstairs: "Leesh?"
She took the stairs two at a time. I followed more carefully, scanning corners, checking rooms. The parents' bedroom was empty, bed unmade. Guest room clear. Bathroom door open, medicine cabinet ransacked.
Matt's room was at the end of the hall.
He lay in bed, covers pulled up to his chin, skin gray and slick with sweat. Even from the doorway, I could see the tremors running through him. His eyes tracked Alicia as she rushed to his side, but the movement was sluggish, delayed.
"Oh my god, Matt." She grabbed his hand. "You're burning up."
"Feel cold," he mumbled. "So cold."
I moved closer, pulling out my phone's flashlight. "Matt, I'm Jax. I'm a medical resident. Alicia asked me to check on you. Can you tell me what happened?"
"Gas station. Wednesday. Getting... getting snacks for..." He lost the thread, eyes glazing.
"Wednesday," I repeated. Three days ago. "What happened at the gas station?"
"Man. Homeless guy. Asked for money." Matt's breathing was labored. "I gave him... he grabbed me. Bit my shoulder. Security pulled him off."
"Can I see the bite?"
Matt tried to move, couldn't. Alicia helped him sit up, pulling down the collar of his t-shirt.
The wound was on his left shoulder, bandaged with what looked like half a roll of gauze. Blood and something yellow had soaked through. The skin around it was black, veins radiating outward in dark lines.
Necrosis. Aggressive, fast-moving necrosis.
I pulled on gloves from my pocket—always carried them now—and carefully peeled back the bandage. Alicia made a small sound of distress.
The bite was deep, ragged, infected beyond anything antibiotics would touch. The flesh around it was dying, liquefying. And the smell...
"When did you bandage this?" I asked.
"Thursday morning. Cleaned it. Used... used peroxide. Dad's medical supplies."
Over 48 hours of infection. He should already be dead.
I checked his pulse—thready, irregular. His lymph nodes were swollen, hard as rocks. When I shined the light in his eyes, the pupils were sluggish to react, and the whites had a yellow tinge.
[ INFECTION DETECTED: STAGE 3 VIRAL LOAD ]
[ ESTIMATED TIME TO DEATH: 2-6 HOURS ]
[ REANIMATION: INEVITABLE ]
I stepped back, pulling off the gloves. "Alicia. Hallway. Now."
"I'm not leaving him—"
"Hallway."
She heard something in my tone that made her follow. I closed the door most of the way, keeping Matt visible but out of earshot.
"He's dying," I said quietly.
"No. No, we'll take him to a hospital, they'll—"
"There's nothing they can do. The infection's too advanced. His organs are shutting down."
"You don't know that. You're not a—"
"I'm a medical resident who's seen this exact pattern kill a dozen people this week." I kept my voice level, clinical. "The necrosis, the lymphatic response, the neurological symptoms. He has maybe four hours. Maybe less."
Alicia's face crumpled. She pressed her hand over her mouth, fighting for control. "There has to be something."
"There isn't."
"Then we stay with him. We make him comfortable. We—"
"And when he dies, he's going to come back. Just like Calvin. Just like Gloria. And he's going to try to kill you."
"Matt wouldn't—"
"Matt won't be there anymore. It'll just be the virus."
She slid down the wall, sitting hard on the floor. "This isn't fair."
"No. It's not."
We sat in silence. From inside the room, Matt's breathing rattled. He was deteriorating fast, the virus burning through what was left of his immune system.
Alicia wiped her eyes. "His parents?"
"Probably already gone. Either dead or fled. If they were coming back, they'd be here."
"So he's alone."
"He has you."
She laughed, broken and bitter. "Great. His girlfriend and a stranger who's telling him he's going to die. Lucky Matt."
My phone buzzed. Text from Madison: Everything okay?
I typed back: Matt's infected. Dying. Might be a while.
The response was immediate: Do you need help?
Maybe. Will call if needed.
I looked at Alicia. She was staring at the floor, arms wrapped around her knees. Eighteen years old and watching her boyfriend die. No playbook for that.
"You can go in," I said. "Spend time with him while he's still himself."
"And then what?"
"Then I do what needs to be done."
"You mean kill him."
"I mean stop him from turning into something that'll kill you."
She pushed to her feet, anger flashing through the grief. "You're very calm about this. Very practical."
"Someone has to be."
"Do you even care?"
Not about Matt. I never met him before today. But I care about you, because you're important. Because your family is my best shot at staying human through what's coming.
"I care about keeping you alive."
"That's not the same thing."
"It's what I've got."
She stared at me for a long moment, then went back into Matt's room. I heard her pull a chair close to the bed, heard her take his hand and start talking softly.
I stood in the hallway, checking my phone. The timer: 43:27:14.
Still good. Still time. But watching Matt die from the virus reminded me what I was—what I carried. Patient Zero. The source.
How many people have I infected through contact? Through breathing near them? How much of this is my fault?
No. The virus existed before me. The System confirmed that. I was just... accelerated. Enhanced. The perfect vector.
Didn't make it feel better.
An hour passed. Matt's breathing got worse. Alicia kept talking—memories, promises, apologies for things that didn't matter anymore. I stayed in the doorway, watching the street through a window. No movement yet, but it was coming.
My phone rang. Madison.
"How is he?"
"Dying. Maybe an hour left."
"Is Alicia okay?"
"No. But she's handling it."
"Nick wants to come help. I told him to stay put, but—"
"Send him. And yourself. We'll need help burying the body."
Silence. Then: "You're sure?"
"Yeah. I'm sure."
They arrived thirty minutes later in Madison's SUV. Nick carried a shovel from the trunk. Madison brought a blanket.
"His backyard," I said. "Quick and quiet. Before the neighbors notice."
Madison went to Alicia while Nick and I checked the yard. Privacy fence, overgrown grass, a tree in the corner. The ground was soft enough. We could do this.
Back inside, Matt's breathing had changed. Shallow, rattling, desperate. His eyes were open but unfocused, staring at the ceiling. Alicia held his hand, tears streaming silently.
Madison sat beside her. "Alicia, honey. We need to talk about what happens next."
"I know." Alicia's voice was steady despite the tears. "I know what he'll become. Jax explained."
"Then you know we can't let that happen."
"I know."
Matt's hand twitched. His lips moved, trying to form words. Alicia leaned closer.
"What? What is it?"
"Don't... want to hurt you." Each word was an effort. "Feel it... something wrong. Inside."
"Matt—"
"Please." He was looking past Alicia now, looking at me. "Please."
Alicia broke, sobbing against his chest. Madison pulled her gently away. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's give them a moment."
"No, I can't leave him, I—"
"You can. You have to."
Madison guided Alicia into the hallway. Nick followed, closing the door behind them. I could hear Alicia crying, Madison murmuring comfort.
I sat on the edge of Matt's bed. He turned his head slightly, tracking my movement.
"You're doing the right thing," I said quietly. "Asking for this. It takes courage."
"Scared," he whispered.
"I know."
"Will it hurt?"
"No. I'll be fast."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
His eyes closed. Relief or resignation, I couldn't tell. His breathing steadied slightly, like he'd made peace with it.
I pulled the knife from my boot. Clean, sharp, quick.
"Thank you," Matt said.
Then he stopped fighting and let go.
I made it fast. One thrust, angled up through the base of the skull. Instant death, brain destroyed before the virus could reanimate him. Medical training paid off—I knew exactly where to strike.
The door burst open. Alicia had broken free from Madison, was running back in. She saw Matt's body, saw the knife, saw the blood.
She screamed.
Then she was hitting me, fists against my chest, my shoulders, my face. Not hard enough to hurt, just desperate release of everything she couldn't control. I let her. Didn't move, didn't defend, just stood there and took it.
After a minute, she collapsed against me, sobbing. I held her while she shook apart.
"I hate you," she choked out. "I hate you so much."
"Okay."
"He was good. He was kind. He didn't deserve this."
"No. He didn't."
"And you just... you just..."
"I stopped him from becoming a monster. That's all."
She cried harder. Madison appeared in the doorway, face pale, took in the scene. She didn't say anything. Just stood witness.
Eventually, Alicia pulled away. She looked at Matt's body—peaceful now, finally at rest—and something shifted in her expression. Acceptance, maybe. Or just exhaustion.
"We should bury him," she said quietly.
"Yeah. We should."
Nick had already dug the grave by the time we carried Matt's body outside. Wrapped in the blanket Madison brought, he looked smaller than he had alive. We lowered him carefully, Alicia guiding his shoulders, me taking his feet.
The sun was rising. Pink and gold light filtering through the trees, birds singing like the world wasn't ending.
Alicia knelt and placed a photo on top of the blanket—Matt smiling, arm around her at some beach. Then she stood back and nodded.
Nick shoveled dirt. It took twenty minutes to fill the grave. Nobody spoke except Madison, who recited a prayer I half-remembered from childhood. Something about peace and rest and God's mercy.
When it was done, Alicia walked up to me. "I think you just saved my life."
"Yeah."
"But I still hate you."
"Fair enough."
She walked past me to the car. Madison squeezed my shoulder—gratitude or condemnation, I couldn't tell—and followed. Nick stuck the shovel in the ground like a marker.
"That sucked," he said.
"Yeah."
"You okay?"
"Fine."
"You're lying."
"Yeah."
We got in the car and drove back to the Clark house. The streets were emptier. A police helicopter circled downtown, searchlight visible even in daylight. Emergency vehicles screamed past, heading toward chaos we couldn't see yet.
Madison turned on the radio. "—authorities urge calm as isolated incidents of violence continue across the metropolitan area. Citizens are advised to remain indoors and—"
I changed the station. Music seemed obscene.
[ TIMER: 41:15:22 ]
We'd buried Matt at dawn. By nightfall, the city would be burning.
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