[center][h3]March 11, 2018 - Harvard, Massachusetts.  Bromfield School.[/h3][/center]
[center]41 Degrees.  Partly Cloudy[/center]
[center][IMG]http://i68.tinypic.com/2u6fgw1.jpg[/IMG][/center]

[right][color=green][i]Heartbeat is slowing and blood pressure is dropping.  Notable increase in REM frequency.  Harper, see if you can find out what all that banging is about next door.  Okay, Isaac, deep breaths.  That's it. Good. Now, tell me where you are.[/i][/color][/right]

As Isaac approached the school, he took note of the various barricades and fortifications set up. Chicken wire, barbed wire, trenches, and wooden planks.  The fortifications were set up in a hurry.  Each layer was added incrementally over the months since the virus.  Some of the layers were still fresh.  Some of them were crusted over with blood and decaying flesh.  The stench, which stung Isaac's nose even through his mask, only added to the grim scenery.  At one point, such a display of human resolve against the impending tide of death impressed Isaac.  Humanity's tenacity, even at the brink of extinction, is nothing short of awe-inspiring.  But like all of humanity's utilitarian efforts to weather the oncoming storm, sometimes even the best defenses crumble under nature's surging forces.  The defenses were wearing down with time, Isaac noted.  And as any decent meteorologist would know, a storm was coming.

"Pick up your feet, Stan."  Shades barked.  Isaac hadn't known Shades - or anybody in the Eastern Front - for long.  But while he had assumed Shades was just generally an an asshole, Shades' disgruntled urgency raised even Nosering's suspicions.  Nosering turned his gaze over his shoulder, glaring back at Shades with his green-hued eyes.  His dirty, red-brown hair tussled angrily in the wind.

"It's twenty feet.  What the hell is your hurry?" He exclaimed.

Shades didn't answer.  He simply kept on walking, trailing uncomfortably close behind Isaac.  Up ahead stood Gaston and Morgan, two bulky and towering men of varying shades.  Though Gaston, who stood just an inch shorter than Morgan even with his full head of slick black hair, also wore a Kevlar vest and carried the same model M16 assault rifle that Morgan carried, he did not have Morgan's Eastern Front jacket.  The solid black leather jacket bore a patch displaying a soldier kneeling and aiming his rifle.  On a ribbon beneath the seal read the words, "Vitam Mortem Vincit”.

Notably absent were Skullface, Patriot, and the driver.  Isaac glanced around, looking for any signs of them, but instead caught the direct glare of Morgan’s piercing eyes.

“Mask off,” Morgan commanded, sternly.

Isaac glared silently at Morgan for what seemed like an eternity.  But Morgan showed no signs of relent on his face.  Nor did he show any sign of impatience.  He made a command and simply waiting for the inevitable execution of it.

Isaac undid the straps of his gas mask, and pulled it up high enough to reveal his scruffy, half-Indian face.  His brown eyes looked first at Morgan, then at the soldiers standing across the chicken-wire barricade.

Without another word to Isaac, Morgan turned his gaze back to the soldiers.  “Food, fuel, ammo, and supplies.” He said, sternly, as he held out a clipboard with a handwritten list.

One of the soldiers took the list and glanced it over, expressionlessly.  He looked back up at Morgan and nodded.  With a gesture of the hand, two other soldiers pulled a wooden post out of the ground and opened up the barricade.  Morgan stepped through, followed by Gaston.  Shades pushed past Isaac, Sticks, and Nosering without so much as a glance back.  With a face and a gesture, Nosering proceeded forward, only to be stopped by one of the soldiers.

“You’re to wait for Doctor Harper.”  The soldier commanded.

“What the hell is going on?  Who the fuck is Doctor Harper?”  Nosering barked.  He backed away, however, as the soldiers closed the fence again.

Sticks, who had been shivering loudly since their arrival, was glancing around nervously.  “I don’t like this, man.  I don’t like this at all.”  He began to pace, hugging his bony shoulders.

Isaac, meanwhile, toyed with the straps of his mask.  As he began to tighten them, Nosering clapped him on the shoulder.  “Thought you were white,”  He mused.

Isaac paused and gave him a dark glare.  “[color=goldenrod]Is that going to be a problem?[/color]”

Nosering’s puzzlement was worn plainly on his face as he took a step back.  “Fuck no.  Shit, I had a Hindu buddy back home.”

Isaac simply stared at Nosering and sighed before tugging his mask back down to his face, only to be reprimanded by one of the soldiers.  Reluctantly, he pulled the mask up again and rolled his eyes, just in time to see a man in a white coat approaching.  He had a pleasantly round face and calming smile, with a thin pair of mishapen rectangular spectacles that hid black, beady eyes beneath.

“Hello, friends.  I’m Doctor Harper.”  He said as he stopped a few feet from barricade separating the group from him.  “You’ll forgive me if we skip the handshakes.  Nasty flu going around.”

Isaac was not amused.  To his surprise, though, neither was Nosering.  Sensing the apprehension among the group, Doctor Harper dropped the joke and motioned toward the barricade.  The soldiers pulled the stake out of the ground and tugged the chicken-wire fence aside.

“Come,” Doctor Harper motioned, “Let me show you around while you wait for Morgan.”

“If it’s all the same to you, we’ll wait out here.”  Nosering said, holding his ground.  Isaac nodded in agreement.  Doctor Harper stopped and turned to face the three.  Specifically, he looked at Sticks.  “You haven’t eaten in a few days, have you?  Afraid the food is going to turn you?”

Sticks said nothing.  He merely looked down and shivered.

“I’m not here to tell you what to do,” Doctor Harper said, ”That’s Morgan’s job.  But we have a working generator and refrigerators stocked with fresh food and water.”

Isaac felt sick at the mention of fresh food.  Over the months, hunger had become something that he was acutely aware of.  But it was so perpetual that he simply learned to tolerate it: like a pair of wet socks.  But now that Doctor Harper had mentioned it, Isaac’s hunger had become a serious demand, one that dominated over his skepticism.  

Nosering must have felt the same.  He put his arm around Sticks’ shoulder, protectively.  “You better not be fucking around.”

Doctor Harper said nothing.  He simply turned and started walking toward the building.  Nosering walked ahead with Sticks and Isaac followed, keeping an eye on the guards as they closed the fence behind.

As the four walked along the perimeter, Doctor Harper began his tour of the facility.  “When the virus hit, this school was one of the first sanctuaries.  FEMA set up a rudimentary quarantine.  Each classroom was separated by degrees of infection.  Kids, mostly.  Not even FEMA had the heart to kill classrooms full of kids.  So the infection spread faster and this school became a slaughterhouse.”

Doctor Harper opened the doors, revealing a darkened foyer and halls barely illuminated with emergency lighting.  Already, Isaac could hear the churning of the generators throughout the building.  The Doctor stepped ahead and motioned for the group to follow him down the hallway on the left.  “This way.”

“Two months later," he continued, "the army used this as a supply station between Fort Devens and Baltimore.  But then Fort Devens fell and the army retreated back to Baltimore.  Since then, this place was transformed into a hospital and research facility.  I was brought in, along with Doctor Gordon-...you'll meet him, soon." 

[right][color=green][i]Hello, Isaac.  I'm Doctor Gordon.  Are you comfortably numb?[/i][/color][/right]

"We look for ways to fight the infection, purify the food, and heal injuries."

"[color=goldenrod]And the soldiers outside make sure none of you turn.[/color]"  Isaac said as glanced at the doors, trying to peek in through the windows.

"Quite right," Harper replied, casually.

"So that's why you collect the Franks."  Nosering said.

Doctor Harper adjusted his glasses and smiled, "We're looking at the end of days for humanity unless we find a cure.  You can't find a cure unless you work with the patients."

"[color=goldenrod]So they're lab rats,[/color]" Isaac muttered.

Doctor Harper looked back over his shoulder and flashed a very political smile, "[color=salmon]We ensure the most quality and humane care of our patients.[/color]"

Isaac rolled his eyes and checked behind to see if anybody was following.  Nothing but an empty hall.

"Who the fuck cares?  They're Franks." Nosering chuckled.  "You can run 'em over and they won't give a shit."

Doctor Harper said nothing. He merely continued smiling as he walked.  With a dramatic gesture, he pointed to an open door at the end of the hall.  "You can wait here while we get the some food prepared from our stock."

Nosering glanced first at Sticks, then at Isaac.  Isaac slowly shook his head, but Sticks was starting to to faint.  Nosering half-carried, half-dragged Sticks into the room.  Reluctantly, Isaac followed, checking behind again.  The Doctor gave Isaac one last smile as he passed and promptly shut the door.  The emergency light flickered for just a moment.

“Stan,” Sticks groaned, “Stan we need to leave.”

Isaac could hear feet shuffling in the darkened room.  Quickly, he reached for his knife, but he felt a strong arm wrap around him and pull him down.  In that instant, as he hit the ground, Isaac could feel something sharp rip through his clothes and stab his leg.  He screamed out as a fiery sensation tore its way up his legs to his spine and spread out, filling him with excruciating and paralyzing pain.

[right][color=plum]Where are you, Isaac?[/color][/right]
[right][color=royalblue]Where are you, Daddy?[/color][/right]

[center][color=green]Welcome home…[/color][/center]