Virulent

Chapter 10: Dilemma

LOG: 1

DATE: 20 December 2098

TIME: 23:25 PM

LOCATION: Some Army/Gov Research Laboratory, somewhere on Earth. (I have no idea.)

Dr. Ezra Mayur, Microbiologist & Epidemiologist. Expertise: Designer Pathogens.

I don't know if anyone will ever read this... or if I'll ever get out of here alive, so naturally, it feels foolish to capture my days. To keep a diary sort to speak. I'm not a diary-keeping girl. Shaki is, but me? I always found it awkward to write about how my day went, as if someone will read this one day and know what I was going through. No one will find this... find me... no one but these men...

But I feel compelled to today. I need to. It's December 20, if my calculations are correct. It's almost midnight, and I feel like I haven't slept in days. So long that I'm exhausted. I could drop and never wake up if it weren't for the nightmares. Funny how I thought I was done with them after Mum, but no, here I am, often waking up in a cold sweat, muffling my scream, wishing she was still here to take me in her arms and tell me all was going to be okay. I know it's not. Nothing is going to be okay. Not anymore. But I'm so lonely. So, so lonely... I need to talk... about everything and nothing... about how I feel...

Ezra wiped the tears sliding down her cheeks as she sat there in the dark room, legs folded on top of the duvet, the laptop propped upon her lap. No insects chirped or leaves rustled. She was metres down in some bunker, encased in thick concrete walls that were cold. All around her, silence roared. What she wouldn't give to feel the sun on her skin once more. What a fresh breath of air could do to her constricted chest. How she craved to rush into Dad's arms or pull Shaki into a tight embrace despite her protests, 'Watch the hair!'

At the thought of Dad's warm, safe arms, Ezra's tears rolled more vehemently. Today, her melancholy had a good reason to hang around her, to cling to her. It's Dad's birthday in two days...

She sniffled, eyeing the cursor on the screen, blinking at her to go on, write it all down, away from prying eyes, it said. But she wasn't so sure she was away from prying eyes. Was she sure they hadn't bugged her room with cameras and microphones? What about that ancient laptop she had perched on her legs? No. She wasn't sure of anything—not anymore, even if nothing had come from that risky business weeks ago when she'd set up the encrypted hidden file to test the tightness of surveillance. Perhaps they knew exactly what she was up to, but she was cooperating with them in the meantime and it was best not to spook the poor sacrificial goat in their pen, not till she'd completed her task. But tonight, she didn't care. None of that mattered. The more she thought about it, the more she realised this was where she would make her last stand. Whether that counted as a nervous little peon under someone's thumb or a rebel in disguise, was entirely up to her.

Besides, what did she care if they spied on her laptop? She needed to pour out her heart and mind onto something and feel human just for a moment. She needed to feel like she wasn't going crazy. So she continued typing...

If I'm not mistaken, it's Dad's birthday in two days. We always tried and make it a special day for him, no matter how small...

A hiccup escaped her lips, and she paused, unable to stop her crying.

For the first time since they kidnapped her, Ezra sat crying until there were no more tears to be shed and a numbness of sorts blanketed her sore heart.