At first, the virus seemed miles away. It was something confined to the news reports. We knew there was an airborne disease out there that was turning the infected into brain-dead killing machines, their previous personhood replaced with senseless and uncontrollable violence. Once infected, they didn't feel emotions or love or pain.
The virus erased everything that made them human, and anyone infected must be destroyed.
Even though the news claimed the virus had risen to epidemic levels and that it had become a national emergency, it still felt so far away from our everyday life.
Until my nine year old daughter, Jane, was infected.
I was at work when I got the call that Jane had fallen ill, and I was able to convince my boss to let me leave early so I could pick her up from school and take care of her.
I noticed something was wrong as soon as Jane entered the back seat of my car. Jane was usually a bubbly, energetic little girl, but now she was lethargic and distant, almost dreamy. She didn't speak a single word during the drive home. All she did was stare out the window with foggy eyes.
"Are you feeling alright, Janie?" I asked her, looking back at her in concern.
"Yes, Dad." Jane said, "I'm just not feeling very well."
I made a funny face at her in the rearview mirror in an effort to lighten the mood. "Don't worry, Janie. We'll have you good as new in no time."
We arrived home and I prepared a sick bed for Jane on the couch with her favorite blankets, some orange juice and chicken broth, and a large popcorn bowl in case she needed to throw up.
"If you need anything, just holler for me, okay?" I told her
Jane was going increasingly weak, so she could only nod in response.
"Okay, Janie. I love you." I told her. "Feel better soon."
Days passed, building into weeks and Jane showed signs of getting better. It seemed that time only made her health get worse.
I could do nothing but watch helplessly as Jane's health got worse and worse. It seemed that nothing I did could help her, no medicine, no chicken noodle soup, no hydration. All I could do was watch her suffering increase and her health grew worse and worse. It was agony.
I approached Jane's sick bed to give her her dinner of chicken broth and Jell-o, just as I did every night.
At this point, Jane had become so severely ill that she had been rendered unable to move or speak. I set the chicken broth and the Jello on the dinner tray by Jane's sick bed and went to press a hand to her forehead to check if her fever had gotten any better.
That was when Jane unhinged her jaw and sunk her teeth into the soft flesh of my arm.
I screamed out in pain and lurched backward as hot blood dripped down my arm and onto the floor. But the emotional pain was far greater than the physical pain. Jane had never lashed out at me physically before, not even when she was a toddler. This was when I knew something was horribly wrong.
"Janie?" I asked, reaching a shaking hand out to brush a stray piece of hair from Jane's forehead.
Jane seized up like a feral animal, gnashing her teeth and jumping out of her sick bed to crawl around the ground on all fours,
This was the moment when I realized that this was no normal virus that Jane had become infected with. I knew exactly what would become of her if anyone found out about this.
Even if my little girl was reduced to a drooling, violent monster, I had to protect her. I couldn't let them take her. I would die before I would let that happen.
As the days went on, Jane only got more violent and animal like. Soon, I couldn't even approach her closer than a few feet without her attacking me with her nails and teeth. Eventually, I was forced to restrain Jane to the couch with nylon rope in order to prevent her from attacking me. I cried as I tied the ropes, checking the knots over and over to make sure they weren't tight enough to hurt her.
I kept Jane like that for four entire weeks, spoon feeding her apple sauce, water, and pieces of hard boiled egg every few hours to keep her alive.
With each passing day, Jane was becoming more and more beast like, acting more like a rabid dog than a little girl. Each night, I cried into my pillow. Even though she was still alive and still under my care, I felt as if my little girl had already been taken away from me.
One night, at the end of the fourth week of this hell, I was awoken by a heavy pounding on my front door.
"Police! Open up." A voice from the other side of the door boomed
I stiffened my fight or flight instinct kicking into high gear. They were here to take Jane. They had to be.
"Let us in or we're going to break down the door," the police warned.
I grabbed Jane from where she lay on the couch, snapping to ropes that bound her wrists and ankles as I clutched her to my chest. She struggled against my grip and attempted to bite me, but I wrapped my hand around her mouth so she couldn't move a muscle.
There was a pounding on the front door, a knocking over and over again before the door was ripped door, sending a group of fully armed officers clad in SWAT gear marching into my living room.
Not knowing what else to do, I ran into the bedroom with a struggling Jane still pressed to my chest, but the officer swarmed in after me, leaving me cornered in my own bedroom with their guns drawn.
"Hand over the child.' One of the officers warned. "Or we will shoot both of you."
Despite the danger of the situation, a wave of rage washed over me.
"Never!' I cried out. "I will never let you take my daughter, You would have to kill me first."
"She's not your daughter anymore, sir." The officer said."Anything resembling your daughter in that thing is long gone."
Before I could react, one of the officers grabbed Jane, prying her from my arms no matter how hard I fought.
As I watched them rip my daughter from me, I could see something human flash in her eyes, showing me that my little girl was still in there somewhere against all odds.
"Daddy!" She cried out. "Daddy, help me!"
I reached out for my little girl but she was already gone. I was helpless to do anything but sit on my bedroom floor and sob.
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