“I’m not doing. I’m not getting infected for those little bastards,” said Robert, his arms crossed, stern face staring across the table at the rest of the Council.
“Robert, someone has to give the children the vaccine, and it’s always fallen to the youngest member of the Council. That being you, you will go down to the Lab, retrieve the vaccine and administer it to every child in the gym,” said Sandra, her voice cool like water in contrast to Robert’s fiery attitude. Reluctantly, Robert finally walked out onto the overpass.
20 feet beneath him, the younger children milled about the camp in their trenches, separated from the older children and the adults. These were the infected, born that way, unable to be cured, unable to be allowed contact with anyone other than more infected. The Council had been started to help them. Now, it was so much more.
He finally reached the Lab, but as the door slid open, he could tell something was wrong. His mask was sliding down on his face as the mist hit him.