The Immune

22. Justification

Nothing surprises Jacob Price. My father could win the lottery and somehow be completely calm. He'd say he expected it. I used to be obsessed with trying to scare him. I hid behind doors and under covers, then I would jump out and scream. Dad would always look at me and smile gently before patting me on the head and walking away.

This moment is no different. Staring down at me from the staircase, all he does is scowl and look disappointed. It's almost like he expected me to be in our living room.

I freeze, holding a bottle of painkillers. His eyes dart between me, Clare, and Isaac. Is he trying to figure out what's going on? His eyes float down to Clare's leg, and reality sinks in. Dr. Price comes to life, and he bounds down the stairs.

"What happened? I need every detail you can remember," he says calmly, grabbing gloves out of the kit. He doesn't look at me as he speaks. Instead, he turns his head this way and that, inspecting the leg.

"She was shot," I manage to spit out. "I can't find an exit wound."

"Probably still in there," he mumbles. "Hold her down."

Isaac moves higher up and pins Clare down. She buries her face in his shoulder, too out of it to care.

Dad pushes the pills out of my hand. "That syringe." I hand him the needle he points to. "Keep her still, Isaac. This will help." Isaac grunts and tightens his grip.

As Dad pushes the needle into her leg, Clare buckles. Isaac's too strong for her, though. She moans and thrashes her head, but Isaac doesn't let her move anything else. Dad draws the needle back out and administers more medicine in a different spot. After a few more insertions, Clare goes still. She takes a few strong, deep breaths and closes her eyes.

"What was that?" I ask, sitting back on my knees.

"Anesthesia. Localized. She won't feel anything from her kneecap down for at least a few hours." Dad reaches for the box again and pulls out a medicine bottle. "Take these," he says to Clare as he shakes out a small white pill. Isaac takes it and shows it to Clare. "That's just hydrocodone. For the residual pain."

Clare takes it anyway, shoving her head back into the pillow. Isaac brushes her hair out of her face.

Dad looks up at me. "What were you thinking?" he hisses. His cheeks are flushed, and the vein in his forehead, above his left eye, pulses erratically.

"What?"

"Why did you come back here?"

"I—I wasn't—"

"You weren't thinking, were you? That seems to be the root of all your problems."

I stand up, scowling down at him. The adrenaline of Clare's injury has passed, and everything I've learned about him comes back to me. He created the virus. He made Mandy sick. He ruined my life. He ruined the world. Rage hits me like a tidal wave.

"Were you thinking when you invented a virus to wipe out the human race? Because that seems pretty stupid."

"Don't condemn me for things you don't understand," he says calmly, looking back down at Clare's leg.

"Things I don't understand?" I respond, gaping. "Dad, I've seen what this virus can do. I lived with it the entire time Mom was sick. I've seen true Infected up close. I had to force myself to forget that they were once human, just so I could survive. What you did was unforgivable. You took away their humanity, made them into animals. Don't tell me I don't understand the virus."

Dad sighs. "That's not what I meant. You don't understand the part I played in it."

"Then explain it to me," I plead. That's all I really want—an explanation. Why lie to me about Mandy? Why create the virus in the first place?