15
A row of figures rose behind the deck railing-they wore sealed uniforms, their faces covered by smooth, curved protective masks that gleamed dully beneath the overcast sky.
More striking were the devices they held: the tubes pointed neatly toward the shore, their dark openings forming a dizzying array.
The woman in black robes abruptly spread her arms.
The wind billowed the fabric like an umbrella suddenly opening.
But she was too thin, her frame clearly visible beneath the loose robes, nowhere near enough to shield the huddled little bodies behind her.
"This wasn't the agreement!"
She raised her voice, its final notes scattered by the sea breeze.
An answer came from the deck, muffled and distorted through a breathing filter: "Orders confirmed: eliminate all life-forms bearing infection markers in the Flevance dock area."
The clicks of gun safeties being released rang out together, cold and crisp, drowning out the waves' mournful cries.
In a bedroom several kilometers away, a man lowered the hand covering his mouth.
Translucent wisps tangled in the pool of dark red in his palm, like melting cobwebs.
He stared at the blood for two seconds, then curled his fingers.
"There's... not much time left."
The woman clasped his trembling wrist.
Her fingertips bore the rough texture of long exposure to disinfectants, yet her touch was as light as a feather. "Having met you was enough."
The man leaned against the headboard and closed his eyes.
His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed the cough rising to his lips.
His two children's nicknames rolled across his tongue-one lay unconscious with a high fever, while the other stubbornly stayed at the docks, refusing to board.
He remembered the name embroidered on his white coat, once a symbol of the finest medical skill in town; now he