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  “The CDC?” Amy asked curiously.

  “Please, just go inside and listen.”

  “Okay,” she said and followed him inside.

  He led her to what was obviously not an interrogation room, but rather an office cleared out to be one. He locked her inside. She looked through the blinds over one of the windows and could see nothing but an empty hallway. She sat down in one of the chairs.

  While she waited, she thought about what her next move would be if she was given the opportunity. She decided that Staten Island was the answer. She felt dumb for not thinking of it sooner. She needed to get there and record what was happening. Maybe even catch someone with a PFD uniform. She laughed at the thought. Just then the door opened, making Amy jump.

  A woman came in and opened a folder on the desk between them. It had Amy’s picture on it and what she assumed were her credentials. She looked away quickly. It made her nervous.

  “Miss Amy Savino, of the World News of Manhattan,” the woman said. “Originally from New York City, aren’t you?”

  “This is about my story, isn’t it?” Amy said. Her mind was whirring with possibilities of what the CDC could want with her. She answered the woman’s questions cautiously and vaguely, not ready to give in until she knew the woman’s motives. In the moments that passed, Amy learned the woman’s name and little else. If Cassandra wasn’t willing to show her hand, neither would Amy. She stood and made her way to the door.

  “I believe you,” Cassandra said.

  Amy leaned forward on the table between them. “You know something, don’t you?”

  “I…I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

  “Then we’re done here. Thanks for the kidnapping.”

  Amy moved to leave again before Cassandra said, “Wait.”

  Amy paused, but the woman didn’t speak, so she reached for the door.

  “Okay,” Cassandra said, standing. Amy grinned, knowing she had won.

  “Please, come back and sit. I’ll tell you what I can, but this can’t go into your next report.”

  Happy to finally have Cassandra talking, Amy gave in and shared everything she knew. As did Cassandra. It turned out the CDC had no more definitive answers than Amy had, but the overwhelming sense that PFD was responsible was becoming more and more likely. And Amy wasn’t done with this case. Not by a long shot.

  The door to the room opened and a man stuck in his head. “Sorry to interrupt, ladies, but it’s getting dark. If Miss Savino is leaving, it’ll have to be soon.”

  Cassandra had firmly insisted Amy not go to Staten Island before sending her on her way, with the driver she’d arrived with, a man she now knew as John.

  They got in the van and she gave him directions to the studio. They rode in silence.

  Amy had told Cassandra she was going to her apartment because she didn’t want her to worry, but the truth was she hadn’t been there, except to pack a suitcase, in days. She had no intention of letting more time pass before finding out the truth.

  “Thanks for the ride,” she said when he had parked the van in front of the studio.

  He didn’t seem all that surprised she wasn’t really going to her apartment.

  “Listen, I’m sorry about earlier…” he began.

  “Hey, no hard feelings,” she said smiling. “Your boss helped me actually.”

  He smiled too. “Goodbye, Miss Savino.”

  “You take care of yourself.”

  “You as well,” he said before she closed the door and made her way up the many flights of stairs to her office.

  She intended on taking some notes, regrouping, and going out again, but as soon as she sat down on her makeshift bed, also known as the couch, she felt fatigue hit her like a brick. She decided to give in and let herself get some rest before what really would be her final report.

  * * *

  Next thing Amy knew, sunlight was seeping into her window. She chastised herself for sleeping for so long. She had things to do! She quickly pulled some clothes together and went down to the bathroom, which luckily for her had a shower. She showered quickly, got dressed, and spent extra time on her hair and makeup. If today was her last report, she wanted it to be perfect.

  Amy made her way to Mick’s office. He was slumped over his desk sleeping. Amy smiled and went to the office kitchen. She got her and Mick coffee and stale doughnuts. The breakfast of the media world.

  When she came back he was awake. He must have smelled the coffee.

  “Morning, sunshine.”

  “Glad to see you’re alive, Amy. Marcus came running in here beside himself. Of course we were both relieved when your watch radioed us your whole conversation, so we knew you were not only alright but on a gold mine.”

  “I’m assuming you got it recorded.”

  “Every word. Even the part about you going to Staten Island. Is that still your next move?”

  Amy didn’t answer right away. She knew how dangerous it would be. She had made some very powerful people look bad, and worse than that, had deterred New York away from them.

  “Yes, I’m going now. Alone. I won’t risk Marcus’s life just because I think it is necessary to risk my own.”

  “I don’t think so,” Marcus said from the doorway. “It’s my life to risk. We’re all dead anyway, right?”

  “Gotta die someday,” Mick said, shrugging. “Alright, you two better get out there. By the way, Amy—we are officially the last news station still operational. I just thought you should know. This is it.”

  Amy nodded. Now even more determined. If this was the end, she was going to end it doing what she loved. With no family and her friends dropping like flies it was all she had left anyway. She didn’t dare think about what was next.

  * * *

  They drove in silence to Staten Island. Each lost in their own thoughts.

  They reached a blockade of cars several blocks away from the Goethals Bridge.

  “Now what?” Marcus asked nervously.

  “Now we walk, I guess,” Amy said, squeezing his arm reassuringly.

  They both got out and Amy waited as Marcus unloaded his gear from the back. They started walking, weaving their way around hundreds of cars.

  They started walking into the crowd of people. Amy had warned Marcus to keep the camera hidden until there was something to record. She didn’t want to cause a panic. It didn’t take long before people recognized her. She heard people saying her name around her. Soon it became a sea and people began to part, letting her go to the front.

  At the front of the line, she looked down a row of armed men in black military-grade armored containment suits. A woman at a table told her to come forward.

  “Give me your hand please,” she said to Amy.

  More out of curiosity than anything she did so. The woman stuck her finger in a device that briefly pricked her finger, making Amy jump. The woman watched the device for a moment and looked up at Amy.

  “Go to the right. Next!”

  Amy did so and waited for Marcus who was told the same. They walked together into yet another line.

  “What was that?” Marcus whispered.

  “They were testing our blood for the virus.”

  “So were we infected or not?” he asked nervously.

  “We’re about to find out.”

  After shuffling with the line for a while Amy looked behind them. She noticed that her view of the previous line, those waiting to be tested, was now cut off. There was no going back now.

  Suddenly, a group of men in black containment suits came marching from somewhere up ahead. They weaved around the smaller group of people, and before Amy knew what was happening, they were all around her and Marcus.

  “Amy Savino. You are to come with us.”

  One of the men stepped forward, grabbing Marcus’s camera out of his hands before he could record them. Then they threw him like a ragdoll to the ground.

  Terror suddenly slipped down her spine. On their arms was a patch with the letters PFD.
Flashes came to her then. The dying children in Africa being carried by men with the same symbol, the PFD transport truck, and now armed men with the same symbol. It had been a mistake coming here.

  She watched in horror as they unceremoniously shot Marcus in the forehead. The people around them screamed and backed away from the group of men.

  Amy was in shock as the men grabbed her. She watched as they stepped over Marcus’s body like he was no more than garbage.

  They half dragged, half carried her in the direction of Staten Island. Fighting was pointless. They were too strong. Suddenly her world went black.

  Hours later Amy woke up with a gasp. She was in the most claustrophobic room anyone could imagine. The floor she was laying on was concrete. The walls were black and concrete as well. It was cold and she instantly was freezing. She tried to get up, but realized her ankles and wrists were bound behind her. There was not much to see. There was a solid black door in front of her with a small slat at the bottom. Above her was a grate of lighting in a concrete ceiling. That was it. Thinking quickly, she felt her wrist. She was relieved to find her watch still there. She pressed a button on it quickly.

  “Mick. I know you can hear me. They killed Marcus. I am in a concrete holding cell. They are going to kill me too. I know that now. So you are going to have to make the last report, Mick. Use my voice.”

  She took a moment to think about the last thing that she wanted to tell the world.

  “New York, this is Amy Savino. You cannot see me because I was kidnapped and I am now in a holding cell on Staten Island. They killed my camera man and my guess is they are going to kill me as well. Please listen to my final report. Whoever is responsible for this virus—they will do whatever it takes to keep it a secret. I don’t have much time New York. So I will leave you with this. Staten Island is a trap. Please stay away from Staten Island. If you are not infected hide or leave, but do not come here. Peter Franklin Donalds is involved somehow. I don’t have any proof, but you have my word. I have loved you my whole life. You are my family. May God bless you all and keep you safe. This is Amy Savino with WMNM news signing off. Goodbye, New York.”

  Amy paused again before speaking, choking back tears. “And goodbye to you Mick. I always thought of you as a kind of father. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that in person. I will leave my transmitter on so you can record everything they do to me for proof. I’m sorry you have to hear it, Mick. I am.”

  She went quiet then and waited, crying. Even her tears dried up after a while and her anger settled in once again. The longer she waited the angrier she got. Eventually she heard her watch begin to beep indicating the battery was dying. Finally it beeped for the last time and went silent. She was now completely alone. No one would hear her final story.

  Learn more about Brea Behn

  The deadly outbreak, nicknamed the Fever, had killed nearly everyone Bailey knew. Her teachers. Her neighbors. Her former best friend, Hannah. Mom and Dad.

  Like a cockroach, her cheating ex-boyfriend Derek had managed to survive. It figured. He sat across the kitchen table from her, drumming his fingers in that annoying way, studying a map online. Her Golden Retriever, Scout, sat close enough for Derek to scratch his head. It irritated her that Scout didn’t sense Derek’s unfaithfulness, his betrayal. Weren’t dogs supposed to detect untrustworthy people?

  “The sooner we leave, the better,” Derek said. His parents were dead, too. They didn’t talk about it. The bleeding, the screams of pain, the horror. The only good thing—if there was anything good about a fatal, contagious illness—was that it was quick. Victims only suffered a single day before dying. “Four guys from school are heading to Staten Island. One of them has prepper relatives in New York and his cousin, Jake, told him about a safe haven.”

  She nodded, trying to absorb how few people from school were left. Six weeks ago, they had danced at the junior prom. Derek bought her a coral-colored rose to match her dress. Pictures on her phone showed happy, smiling friends. Those friends were gone, along with Mom and Dad. But she couldn’t think about that now. She needed to focus on survival.

  “I think we should go to Staten Island, too,” he said.

  “I don’t know. My dad wanted to take us to Kingston,” she said. “There’s supposed to be a bunker, some type of shelter. It’s more rural than Staten Island so it should be less crowded. Nate will do better.”

  “If it actually exists,” Derek said.

  “My dad said so.”

  “Staten Island is closer, Bails.”

  “Don’t call me that,” she said. “Only people I love can call me that. Besides, half a million people live in Staten Island. Nate can’t function there.”

  “Half a million people used to live there. Most of them are dead. But the infrastructure still exists.”

  “Exactly. It will draw the masses. That’s what we need to avoid.”

  Her brother wandered into the kitchen. He opened the fridge even though it was almost empty.

  “Orange juice?” he asked.

  “Sorry, Nate. How about peaches?”

  “Want peaches.” He sat at the table next to Derek and waited.

  Nate was nearly thirteen, but autism severely limited his vocabulary. He knew his snacks, though, and he was in an orange phase, so Mom had stocked up on canned peaches, macaroni and cheese, and carrots. Bailey opened a can and gave him a fork.

  Nate devoured it and then drank the syrup. “More peaches?”

  “More peaches later. Right now we have to get ready for a trip. Maybe you should decide where we’re going, Nate.” She took a quarter from the family change jar and handed it to him. “Heads is Staten Island. Tails is Kingston. You flip it.”

  Nate loved his version of flipping coins. He wiggled his fist, then plopped the coin on the table.

  “Tails! Tails Bails!” He left the room giggling.

  Bailey smiled. “Kingston it is.”

  “Flipping a coin is no way to decide,” Derek said.

  “We don’t have hours to debate it. I’ll drive.”

  “No way.” He frowned. “You’ve never driven outside of Pennsylvania.”

  “Like the highway in New York is much different?”

  “How much gas do you have?” he asked.

  Dad’s Jeep Cherokee was nearly empty. “Fine,” she said. “But I get to pick the radio station.”

  “Bailey.” He took her hand in his. For the first time since their breakup, she didn’t pull away. “You know there’s no music on the radio anymore.”

  She nodded. “Listen, if Kingston doesn’t work out, it’s two hours to the Goethals Bridge. Staten Island can be the backup plan.”

  In theory, she could go without him. But it made her nervous to travel to an unknown place with Nate alone. Who knew what craziness existed out there. Nate was comfortable with Derek, so it made sense to stick together even if she was still angry.

  “Nate wins,” he said. “We should pack. Let’s leave after dinner.”

  She walked him to the door. There was an awkward pause during the moment when he would have kissed her goodbye if they were still in love.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “about what I did. Are we ever going to talk about it?”

  She hesitated. Now with her parents gone, with everything so screwed up…somehow his betrayal almost didn’t matter. Almost. “I’ll see you later.”

  After Derek left, she walked with Nate to visit their surviving neighbor. Mrs. Alvarez had already been exposed to the disease, too, caring for her grandchildren. They didn’t make it.

  Nate bounded up the porch steps and sat next to her in the small rocking chair she kept for him. He barely fit now, but he loved to rock and watch her knit. Even though winter was months away, she’d nearly finished a scarf in shades of orange. It reminded Bailey of a sunset.

  “Nate and I are leaving today. We’re going to a place where other survivors live together. It might not stay safe here. In other towns, looting started and…I can’t take
any chances. Why don’t you come with us?”

  Mrs. Alvarez shook her head. Like Nate, she was a person of few words—another reason he probably liked her.

  Bailey sat on the step, listening to the squeak of the rocker, watching the rhythmic motion of the needles. Exhaustion seeped through her. There was so much to do, so much to worry about. She absentmindedly braided and unbraided her hair.

  They sat without speaking on the deserted street. From blocks away, so faint she almost thought she imagined it, a woman screamed. Someone was sick.

  Unless it was something worse.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”

  Mrs. Alvarez nodded.

  On a normal day, Bailey would let Nate stay and rock in his chair. Not today.

  “Time to go, Nate.”

  He ignored her.

  “Come on. Time for peaches. Peaches, then car.”

  “Get in the car.” Nate loved to go for rides.

  Mrs. Alvarez held up her hand: wait. She tied off the loop at the end of the scarf and handed it to Bailey. “For you.”

  “Oh,” she said, surprised. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.” Not wanting to cry at the unexpected kindness, she gave Mrs. Alvarez a quick hug. When they waved goodbye, Bailey had the sinking feeling that they wouldn’t see each other again.

  “Want to play red light, green light?” she asked Nate as they walked. She needed to feel normal, to do something ordinary, even for a few minutes. He rewarded her with a grin.

  “Red light!” she said.

  He stopped.

  “Green light!”

  He began walking.

  “Super green light!”

  Nate laughed as he ran and then skipped with joy. It lightened her heart a little.

  Back at home, while Nate ate his snack and watched an old Sesame Street DVD, Bailey searched through Dad’s neatly stacked folders until she found it: the one labeled Kingston, containing an address and directions.

  She dragged herself upstairs to pack. It should be organized—clothes in one suitcase, food in another, the most important items in their backpacks. But it was too overwhelming to think logically. She sat with her head in her hands. How long would they be gone? Forever? Bailey didn’t know how to pack for forever. There was no one left to help her.