There is an old saying that goes, "It is always the darkest just before the light." Well, it couldn't get any darker and the light does not seem to be coming. Not any time soon. Not for us. The darkness just keeps going on and on. Getting darker and darker with no end in sight.
It's been a little more than two years since the first inklings of trouble began appearing. In those two years the world went from thriving to desolate. Civilization fell surprisingly fast once it became apparent nothing was going to stop the ravages of The Squeeze.
The name came from the description of how the disease made victims feel; squeezed of all the air from their lungs. Scientists called it COVID-24, but the people, the victims, gave it its nickname. The Squeeze, TS for short.
At first there were only a few infected, the world was told it was yet another version of COVID and that the vaccines developed for previous outbreaks of the viruses would slow the spread until a full vaccine could be developed. They were wrong, spectacularly wrong. And worse, they knew it.
Just six months after the first case of TS appeared in a Chinese "wet market" nearly twenty-five percent of the world was infected. The virus spread literally like wildfire. It became airborne almost immediately and could live in the air an astounding length of time.
Masks were useless against it, as were all but the very best air filtration systems. Only highly secured, government-operated facilities were safe and only the highest-ranking officials and their support teams had access. The rest of us, the rest of humanity, were left to fend for ourselves, hoping upon hope that the scientists could develop a vaccine quick enough to head off any further victimization.
Local governments began to fall as panicked citizens looted stores for supplies. Police departments were overwhelmed and gave up trying to stop the marauding throngs. Hospitals were first overrun and then, as the crowds realized they could not get help, set on fire. When local administrations failed, desperate hoards began to turn on national governments. Capital cities were flooded with citizens seeking answers and when none came, the masses of humanity turned on their leaders and attacked.
But many of the public buildings were already empty. Government officials had been evacuated to secret installations far underground or inside mountains. The entrances were sealed and heavily guarded. Soldiers were given shoot-to-kill orders and afforded no leeway or exceptions.
The Squeeze killed nearly ten percent of its victims. It was a slow, lingering death. It began as a slight rasp when breathing, little more than a tickle in the lungs that caused victims to feel as though they needed to clear their throats. From there, the microscopic bug began closing bronchial tubes, reducing the amount of air that could be brought into the lungs. Intubation helped, but TS continued until even that did not force enough air in.
It also caused muscles to contract. Not so much as to cause cramps at first. Slowly the contraction became stronger, causing victims to curl into the fetal position and pull their faces into a gruesome grin. As TS closed victim's airways, it crushed their bodies from the inside until the breath was squeezed from them. Survivors often manifested a slight, not unpleasant, smile, but not always.
Eight months after the outbreak, sixty percent of the world was infected. Nearly five billion people suffered with The Squeeze, four hundred and seventy-four million died. More than the population of the entire United States of America died in just eight months. On the one-year anniversary of the plague, 1.5 billion were dead and the virus lived in nearly every person living on the earth, lying dormant waiting to strike down its host.
That's when scientists had a breakthrough. An Army researcher at the U. S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases (USAMRIID) discovered that the few people that were unaffected by TS had a particular gene that prevented it from attacking the lungs and muscles. Further, Captain Corbin McGregor M.D. discovered that by harvesting the gene and splicing it into the virus' DNA, it deactivated ninety-seven percent of the viral load of an infected person. Effectively, the gene therapy stopped the virus in its tracks and all but cured those infected.
The problem was, there were very few people who possessed the gene. To further complicate the situation, the gene could not be reproduced. A fresh specimen had to be used to make each batch of the therapy drug. To extract the necessary genetic material, the doctors, in a highly secretive process, had to virtually drain the blood from the donor. Synthetic blood was pumped into their bodies and air was forced into their lungs, but many did not survive.
Nevertheless, the search was on.
Special troops were trained and deployed across the world's continents. Their mission was to locate anyone who did not show signs of having had the virus; those who did not have the Mona Lisa smile. When found, the troops -- who became known as Vampire Squadrons as the fate awaiting donors became known -- were to escort gene carriers to specific medical sites. If resistance was encountered, donors were taken by force; shot with tranquilizer darts or shocked into unconsciousness by Tasers.
For months, thousands upon thousands of people were rounded up and tested. Flat-facers, or those who didn't have the smile, were terrorized not only by the Vampire Squads, but also by their friends and neighbors who turned them in for allotments of food. And, even if they did not have the gene, the interment and testing process was horrific. As those who did not carry the gene were released, the stories got around about the conditions in the camps, the pain inflicted to remove genetic material, and the fate of those few who had the gene. Flat-facers began to hide.
That's where we come in. By we, I mean my sister Gwen and me.
I'm Lance, an average enough guy. Before TS brought the world to its knees, I was enrolled in college at the University of Missouri. At twenty-one, I was a senior just three months from my journalism degree and four from a researcher role at the nation's largest news agency. I swam on the college's swim team, quite successfully. I missed a trip to the Olympics by just two tenths of a second. Not as a contender but going as an alternate would have been just as sweet.
My 6', 1" frame carried all 187 pounds of my hard muscled body. Something that was of great interest to the ladies on campus. But, in the TS's world, it meant exactly squat because for the past year, Gwen and I had been hiding in the attic of our uncle's -- our father's brother -- house.
We had access to electricity, refrigeration, and a small electric hot plate, all powered by a generator our uncle ran. We got food by flipping up a hidden panel on the roof and catching small birds, squirrels, or even rats that skittered overhead at night. Vegetables came from a hydroponic set-up I put together near a vent that let in a little natural light. Sometimes, when he could, our uncle would toss food up on the roof for me to collect after dark. It was a meager subsistence, but it was all we had, and we made it work.
For entertainment, we had a stack of books and a small television with a DVD player. We had CDs and music on our otherwise useless smart phones. There was also an antenna that we could attach to either the TV or a small radio we found that could be used to pick up the odd broadcast from the government or a pirate signal.
The set-up was ingenious, impossible to detect from the outside of the house or even from the inside. The house our uncle lived in was old with a high-pitched roof. This meant that the attic was large with a very high ceiling. We had built our living area at the top of the attic, 10 feet above its floor and with no access door from below. This gave us a long room with only five feet of clearance in the center and the sharply-sloped roof as walls. In essence, it was a tube shaped as a triangle. The sides thickly insulated to keep out the heat of the sun and probing by Vampire Squad helicopters with heat signature detection systems.
Our sleeping area was on one side of the long room, our kitchen and entertainment at the other. In between was our garden and storage. The quarters were cramped, especially for me since I could not stand up straight. I took to opening the hatch on the roof at night to stretch my legs and get fresh air.
Gwen loved the evening air and star-filled skies. Sometimes she would climb out and lie on the steep roof, carefully holding the edge of the opening to keep from sliding off. Eventually, I devised a harness from some rope our uncle threw up making it easier for her to stargaze and me to collect our meals.
Even with the thick insulation, it got hot in our attic room. We both took to wearing fewer clothes in a futile effort to keep cool. I usually just wore my boxers, and Gwen just a pair of my boxers and a t-shirt tied in a knot just below her breasts.
After one particularly hot day, I opened the hatch in hopes of catching a cool evening breeze. Gwen tied the harness around her waist and climbed out. The stars were especially bright that night, and there must have been a meteor shower because several streaked across the sky as I stood in the hatch stretching.
I glanced at my sister lying on the roof and couldn't help but notice the faint light of the stars glistening in the sweat on her flat, smooth tummy. Her face glowed as well, and she sighed as a tear trickled from the corner of her startlingly blue eyes.
"Gwen," I said softly as I placed a hand over hers. "I'm sorry we're stuck in this situation. I'm sorry the world has gone crazy. I'm, I'm just sorry."
She took a deep breath and sighed again. Without looking at me, she smiled; it made her look weary and sad, not happy.
"You've done everything you could to keep me safe," she said, still looking to the sky. "You've provided a place for us to live, hidden us from the V Squads, and..." A sob choked her up and she stopped talking. More tears ran down the side of her face and wet the silky red hair spread around her head in ringlets and curls.
Even in her sorrow, she was breathtaking. Her skin pale, smooth, and perfect, glowing in the starlight, not a flaw to be found. Her face the picture of mischievousness, with slightly slanted, almond shaped eyes and a pixie nose. Her lips were naturally a deep red and not too full, just right I always thought. Her breasts moved jerkily up and down as she sobbed, they were perfectly shaped and sized. Enough to compare to grapefruits with a slight sway when she walked. Her hips flared from her waist and curved to a tight, muscular ass that told of all the exercise -- he both had done -- to whittle away at the boredom. And her legs met that ass as like the perfect stem on a glass of the finest Champagne.
At nineteen, she was perfect, she deserved better than what this world had served her, she better than me.
But I was all there was. At least until the world came to its senses. Until the V Squads stopped hunting her for her genes.
We couldn't be one hundred percent sure, but it was likely we both carried the gene. Neither of us had the grin, neither of us had gotten sick, and neither of us had as much as coughed since the beginning of the pandemic. Whether we had the gene or not, the V Squads would take us if they found us. Take us and separate us. If one or both of us did have the gene, we would be drained, wrung dry of our blood and set aside to either live the rest of our days on life support or die from the harvesting.
"Gwen," I whispered again as I squeezed her hand. "Come inside. I'm afraid you'll fall if you get any more upset."
With that, she turned her head sharply to me.
"And what if I do fall?" she spat. "Who would care? I'd just be one more body to bury in a mass grave. One more person lost at the end of the world."
She wasn't angry with me. I knew she was only raging against the situation. But it still stung. Her words hit me hard, and for a moment, I was speechless. Her beautiful face was twisted in fury, her eyes wild, spittle flinging from her ruby lips.
"I would care," I said quietly, almost imperceptibly, after a moment. Finally finding the words my heart felt. "I've lost everything just like you. Everything. I can't lose you, too."
Suddenly her eyes cleared, the storm within them dying like a passing summer storm. Her mouth closed and a look of deep regret came across her face. The compassionate, loving sister had returned, and I could tell she was sorry for her rant, for awakening the sorrow in my heart.
She reached her hand out and gently brushed my cheek where a tear of my own had begun its journey over my features. She nodded and slowly, carefully slid to the hatch. She let her feet dangle through for a moment and slipped down so we were both standing in the opening facing each other. Her arms went around me and mine around her. We sobbed together for a long while. The summer night's breeze blowing her shining hair and drying the tears from both our cheeks. Until finally we were just holding each other in silence, swaying gently.
I became aware of her breasts pressing into my chest. They felt wonderful, comforting. They rose, pushing slightly harder into my chest when she breathed in and then fell as she exhaled. Our breathing began to synchronize. Each of us breathing in and exhaling at the same time. It felt right, good in a way that I had not felt in what felt like ages.
She must have felt it to because she nestled her head on my shoulder, her mouth pressing lightly against the sensitive skin of my neck. I could feel he breath, warm and moist as she exhaled with an altogether different sigh. This sigh was one of contentment, one of love, one that spoke of things desired but not uttered.
I felt goose bumps raise on my arms and noticed she had them, too. My body was responding to her, to her closeness, to her touch. And hers was responding to me.
Her lips pursed, leaving a soft kiss on my neck that sent sparks racing through my body. Intellectually, I knew we should stop, but my body craved the closeness. It needed the attention. It demanded it.
More kisses were peppered on my neck. Each with more pressure, each more urgent than the last. Her kisses moved up my neck to my jaw, my cheek, and finally my mouth.
She pulled back and looked at me with the brilliant pools of her blue eyes. I saw the yearning there, the fire beneath the calm, the desire I had heard in her sigh.
