Page 5 of Glass Rose (Where Roses Rot #1)

FOUR

SOFIA

“Get down!” Gavin shoves me to the ground as a spotlight sweeps across the trees, missing us by yards.

“They’re containing it,” Dr. Cho says.

“They’re shooting anything that moves. Neutralizing all potential carriers,” Gavin says. “Including us.”

Another explosion, followed by screams that don’t sound entirely human.

“There.” Gavin points toward a distant parking lot. “We’ll steal a car.”

“That’s half a mile across open ground,” Alex protests. “We’ll be seen.”

“What if we wait for the dark?” I ask.

“No time.” Gavin nods toward the facility. “Look.”

Beyond the fence, security personnel in tactical gear emerge from a side entrance.

Alex shifts his weight, camera still recording. “We could surrender. Explain we’re not infected.”

Dr. Cho’s laugh is brittle. “And you think they’ll what? Give us a medical exam? They’re shooting everything that moves. ”

“Better than running into the woods with—” Alex gestures at Gavin. “—whatever the hell he is.”

His face remains impassive, but something flickers in those mesmerizing eyes. “I’m the reason you’re still breathing.”

“Yeah? And what exactly are you? Because you’re sure as fuck not regular security.”

I step between them. “He’s Subject 7. And right now, he’s our best chance.”

Alex’s eyes widen. “Are you insane?”

“Keep your voice down,” Gavin growls.

Dr. Cho adjusts her glasses. “I vote we go with the immune super-soldier.”

“Fine,” Alex mutters, lowering his camera. “But I’m keeping this rolling. When we get out, people need to know what happened here.”

What happened here. My stomach twists. What I let happen here.

Gavin catches my eye, and for a split second, I see something unexpected—not hatred or judgment, but understanding. Like he can read the guilt written across my face.

“Stay low.” He places his hand against the small of my back, the heat of his palm burning through my lab coat and thin blouse. “And follow my lead.”

He moves ahead, navigating the shadows with practiced ease. I follow, crouching awkwardly, lab coat snagging on underbrush. Through the last cluster of trees, the parking lot comes into view. No people in sight.

“Which one?” I ask.

The vehicles are arranged in neat rows. Sedans, SUVs, and a few motorcycles. Dr. Vasquez’s sleek black Audi sits in its reserved spot near the entrance, the ‘Director of Research’ placard catching the light. Why did she park in the visitor parking lot ?

At the far end, an off-road vehicle idles, its driver’s door hanging open, its exhaust visible in the cold air.

“Someone was planning to leave in a hurry,” Gavin says. “I’ll go first. When I signal, you run. All of you. Don’t stop.”

He sneaks forward, disappearing between the cars. I count heartbeats, each one thundering in my ears like it might be my last.

“What the fuck did they do to him?” Alex presses a button on his camera, the red light a tiny beacon that could get us all killed.

“Turn it off.”

“No way. This is?—”

“Evidence of your stupidity when they find your corpse.” Dr. Cho’s voice is ice. “Turn it off.”

The red light disappears. Small mercies. Gavin reaches the car, dropping into a crouch beside it. He signals with a quick wave.

My legs burn as I sprint across the open pavement, expecting at any moment bullets piercing my back or the shriek of an alarm. Luckily, nothing comes.

I reach the car first, sliding into the passenger seat as Gavin takes the wheel. Dr. Cho climbs in behind me, but Alex hesitates, scanning the lot with his camera.

“Get in the fucking car,” she hisses.

“One second, this is gold?—”

The distant crack of gunfire decides for him. He dives into the backseat, yanking the door closed as Gavin starts the engine.

“Seatbelts,” Gavin says, so matter-of-factly I almost laugh.

The world’s ending, we’re fleeing a zombie outbreak, and he’s concerned about traffic safety.

“Just drive,” Alex snaps.

Gavin’s eyes meet mine. “Your friend has a death wish. ”

Not my friend, I want to say. Not anymore. Maybe he never was.

He steers out of the lot, keeping the headlights off until we’re past the outer gate.

In the rearview mirror, orange flames bloom against the night sky at the edge of the facility.

Green Research burns. A funeral pyre for everyone still trapped inside.

For all the evidence. For any hope of containing what we’ve unleashed.

Alex stares out the window, Dr. Cho hugs herself, and Gavin drives with the focused intensity of someone who expects an ambush.

I gather my phone with trembling fingers, staring at the screen as it lights up. Seventeen missed calls. Five from Dr. Brown. Three from the facility emergency line. The rest… from my mother.

Dozens of text messages.

“Cell networks are still up,” I say.

“Not for long,” Gavin says. “Military will shut them down once they realize the scope.”

“Scope?” Dr. Cho leans forward. “You think it’s spread beyond the facility?”

I scroll through social media, expecting breaking news alerts and emergency broadcasts.

Something. Anything. But there’s close to nothing.

The only video popping up is shaky footage of figures attacking pedestrians downtown, and the news reporter cuts off mid-broadcast as something lunges at the camera. The comments…

@CityGirl98: Anyone else seeing weird shit downtown? People fighting in the streets near Memorial Hospital. Cops everywhere.

? @TruthSeeker44: Nice AI generation. Getting better with the lighting effects.

? @RealityCheck: Another fake crisis video. Don’t fall for it .

@MediaWatcher: You can tell it’s fake by the way the “zombie” moves.

@ConspiracyHunter: Another viral marketing stunt. Probably for that new horror movie.

Those would have been the comments on my videos if I had just posted them online. Alex was right.

“They think it’s fake.” I scroll through more reactions. “Everyone thinks it’s not real.”

Dr. Cho peers over my shoulder. “A logical response. The human mind rejects information that doesn’t align with established reality. Calling it fake provides a convenient explanation for the inconceivable.”

“It keeps people off the streets and creates fewer infection points. Mass-panic would only worsen the situation,” Gavin says. “By the time people realize it’s real, it’ll be too late, or they’ll have it under control.”

“But… How?” I whisper. “How did it spread so fast?”

“My guess is it was already spreading before tonight. Your little video exposé just accelerated the timeline.”

“Video exposé? What happened down there?” Dr. Cho asks. “I was working late when the alarms started. I heard gunshots…”

“BC-7 mutated or at least I think it did… I’m not sure,” I say. “They got into the cells and then?—”

She stares at me. “You? You did this?”

“Not on purpose.” Shame burns through me. “I was trying to expose Green, not release the subjects.”

“People are dying, Dr. Cruz.”

“I know.” I scroll through more videos. A woman shows off a new recipe, another presents her vacation home, and a guy on a motorcycle removes his shirt to reveal his abs.

Normal things. Another clip starts. Footage of a café downtown.

The Little Bean. Where we all grab coffee before shifts. “Holy shit. ”

Mark, who always remembers my complicated order, backs away from a customer leaping across the counter.

I know that face. “That’s—” I turn the phone toward Dr. Cho.

“Dr. Novak.” Her eyes widen. “He called in sick three days ago. HR said he was hospitalized with severe flu symptoms.”

“Well, he looks pretty fucking lively for someone supposedly in the hospital.” I zoom in on his face.

“Let me see that.” Gavin takes the phone from my hand, glancing between the road and the screen. “When exactly did he get ‘sick’?”

“Tuesday morning,” Dr. Cho says.

Gavin tosses the phone back to me. “That’s your patient zero. Docs.”

“That can’t be right,” Dr. Cho says. “Did he inject it himself?”

“He worked on Level 4, right?” I turn to face her fully. “How many times did Webb restrict your access to Level 4? How many ‘need-to-know’ projects were you shut out of?”

She looks away, and I have my answer.

The virus was already out there.

A notification pops up.

EMERGENCY ALERT: All citizens must remain indoors. Downtown area is off-limits until further notice. Monitor official emergency channels for updates.

This isn’t just a facility breach.

This is the end of the world.

And I helped cause it.